Buried alive
by Idun03
Summary: As the enemies of Troy advance, princess Andromache is facing a personal war. Will she be able to keep her husband and her loyalites alive when an old acquaintance comes back into her life? COMPLETE!
1. Default Chapter

Authors note 1: When I watched the movie, I thought that there was something missing between Achilles and Briseis, unlike the passion between Hector and Andromache. So that's why I decided to mess a little bit with them...

Note 2: I do not own any of the characters of the movie, so please don't sue me.

Note 3: I am not from an English speaking country so I apologize for any grammatical errors. I haven't really written this type of fan fiction before, so I'll be very grateful if you take the time to read and review my story. Comments and constructive criticism is very welcome.

**Chapter 1**

It was one of those moments when Andromache could sense what a fortunate woman she truly was. A fresh breeze was streaming in from the balcony and the sun was shining brightly from outside. It was a lovely morning and a lovely day.

Dressed in a cool, white robe, Andromache was watching the two men in her life. Her husband, Hector, prince of Troy had returned safely to her and now he was sitting before her, on their bed with their baby boy, Astyanax in his arms. He was showing him a wooden lion that he had carved for him during his voyage to Sparta.

Hector's face was filled with the sheer, quiet happiness of watching his son smile up at him. He lifted his eyes to Andromache and gave her an affectionate grin, which she returned. Yes, she was indeed a fortunate woman.

She regarded her husband as he sat before her. He was shirtless and the strength of his torso was unmistakable, despite being ever so gentle and playful with his son. The muscles of his arms and his chest were bulging with power. He was the fiercest warrior in all of Troy, some would even say that his skills were unmatched at any place in this world. Andromache knew this very well, having watched him as he practised and as he fought many times.

However, her husband did not merely posses bodily strength. He was equally strong, if not stronger in his soul, his mind and his heart. He was the most noble and loyal man she had ever met. His devotion to his family and to his country was incomparable. He always put them before himself and his sense of duty sometimes astonished her. Added to all of this, he was also a warm-hearted and caring man, a good husband and father.

When he smiled to her, she couldn't help but think that she had a fine husband, also in terms of looks. Hector's warm brown eyes sparkled in the sunny light towards her. He had a strong jaw, covered with a light beard and soft brown curls fell down his cheeks. It was not a strange thing that his cousin Briseis had told her that the young maids of Troy had been running after him when he was still unmarried. Perhaps they were still chasing him? But Andromache knew that she had nothing to fear in that respect. Unlike many other married kings and princes, Hector had never taken any concubines, not even when she was pregnant with Astyanax. He was a faithful husband in every sense on the word.

Despite the fact that their marriage had been arranged, Andromache knew well that she could hardly have gotten herself a better husband. Her father, king Eetion had made a good choice on his daughter's behalf.

That was when a sound reached Andromache's ears and her sense informed her that despite the beauty and calmness of this day, everything wasn't as restful as she would wish.

Quickly, she turned towards the noise. The sound was loud, clanging and it came from the posts down the beach. She met Hector's eyes for a moment. Then he quickly rose from the bed, handed their son to her and went to look out through the porch.

He stood silent for a moment, listening as the strong sunshine made his hair look reddish. Then he abruptly turned and left the room with long, determined steps. With Astyanax in her arms, Andromache took her husband's place to look out over the city and down towards the sea.

She couldn't see anything unusual, but the look on her face was concerned. Although she and Hector had not spoken a word to each other, they both instinctively knew what was going on.

She shouldn't be surprised really. Ever since her husband had come back from Sparta, she had known that something was bound to happen. Hector had travelled to Sparta to secure peace between the two nations. King Menelaus, brother of Agamemnon had been a long time enemy of Troy and her father-in-law, king Priam had been working hard to achieve a friendly relation with the Greek state. He was a peace-loving man, her husband's father and realized the necessity of this agreement.

But even if there had been a chance for peace, Andromache knew very well that the fragile alliance was forever broken now. Her husband's younger brother, prince Paris had not found peace at Sparta, he had found love.

Hector had always been protective towards his little brother and Andromache was fond of him too, even if she sometimes found his way of living somewhat unworthy for a prince of Troy. Paris was a handsome young man and the women were just as attracted to him as they had been to her husband. But unlike Hector, Paris enjoyed the attention and took advantage of it. Andromache had sometimes found herself wondering how many women her brother-in-law had bedded over the years? He probably didn't even know himself. He would find a beautiful woman, seduce her and then go to the next. No one seemed to be able to resist his charming smile and striking features.

Paris was irresponsible, but perhaps it wasn't so strange. Being the younger son, he had never had to face the same amount of duties as her husband. His lived a life of ease and he was free to enjoy himself as he pleased. His father Priam had always adored his youngest son and spoiled him. Maybe that wasn't very strange either, since Hector and Paris were Priam's only surviving children. His other sons and daughters had all died at a delicate age and that had seemed to increase the king's love for his princes, Paris in particular. In the king's eyes his youngest son could do no wrong. Not even now when his actions threatened to throw his country into war.

Andromache frowned as she remembered the day Hector and Paris had returned from Sparta. At first she had been so eager to see her husband again and show him how their son had grown that she had barely even looked in Paris' direction. Still, she had been very surprised when she noticed that there was a woman by his side.

The woman was uncommonly beautiful with long golden hair and striking blue eyes. That sort of fair hair and her pale skin was rare in Troy and Andromache could only guess that she was a Greek. Paris had looked at her with a glimpse in his eyes that she had never seen in him before. She could tell that he was in love. She would have been happy for him, but she had been positively stunned when Paris introduced the woman to herself and Briseis as Helen of Troy.

_Helen of Troy? _Andromache had thought in confusion, but her eyes had grown wide when she realized who this woman was. Like everyone else, she had heard about the fair Helen. _Helen of Sparta. _The wife of King Menelaus, Agamemnon's brother.

Being a self-controlled woman, Andromache had managed to greet the young woman politely. She could immediately tell that her father-in-law had accepted her, but the questions spun in her head and she had glanced at her husband with worry. Hector had looked slightly uncomfortable, but he had not said anything.

When they were finally alone, she had the chance to ask him what was going on. Hector had reluctantly told her the truth; that Helen and Paris had started a passionate affair during the visit and that she had agreed to come with him back to Troy.

Hector had not found out until they were at sea. His first impulse had been to turn the boat around and sail back to Sparta, but Paris had insisted that he would go with her. Hector had known very well that it would be the death of his brother so he had no other choice but to set sail for Troy.

Andromache was quite shaken to hear the news. She had heard rumours that Menelaus of Sparta was a fierce man and his reaction to this insult would not be mild. And his brother was King Agamemnon, the most powerful man in Greece. Agamemnon had wanted to destroy the power of Troy for years and force them to swear allegiance to him. She knew very well that neither her husband nor her father-in-law would ever let that happen to their beloved country.

Andromache sighed to herself. She really couldn't blame Helen of Sparta for falling for the handsome young prince of Troy and escaping from her husband. Menelaus was much older than his wife and he was not said to be a kind man. Had she been unlucky, Andromache might have ended up in the same situation herself. Nor could she really blame Paris for wanting to save this lovely young woman from her unhappy life and take her with him to Troy. No, she couldn't judge any of them. Better than most people, she knew how easy it was to fall in love.

The problem was that she knew that it wouldn't be Paris who would have to fight to protect his country from the King Agamemnon and his brother.

It would be her son's father.

The day that had started so peacefully had soon turned out to be a day as dark as the kingdom of Hades. Instead of smiling down to his son or enjoying some private moments with his wife, Hector had spent it covered in sweat, blood and sand. With his apollonian guards, he had fought the invading Greeks for most of the day. But no matter how skilful the prince was, this task was too much even for a man like him.

The Greeks had sent the greatest fleet that anyone had ever seen before. Hector guessed it could be as many as a thousand ships. And he knew what they wanted. They might use the retrieval of the Spartan queen as an excuse, but this was all just about power and Agamemnon's greed. He wanted to seize control of Troy and use it to expand his already vast lands.

The beach of Troy was lost; there was no point in trying to deny it. The greatest part of the surviving Trojan soldiers had taken flight back to the city, behind the thick walls where they would be safe, at least for the time being.

Hector and his group of men were still by the beach. Hector suddenly recalled the temple of Apollo, the patron of Troy. He ordered his men to follow him there and they set out. As they approached, Hector could spot Greek soldiers outside the great temple. They had probably come to look for treasures.

Consummated by fury, Hector urged his horse to go faster. His longing to fight and kill the thieving Greeks burned in his blood. But as they came closer, Hector suddenly spotted a Greek, a tall, powerful, flaxen haired man, dressed in armour, who was standing at the temple porch. He reached out his hand and a smaller, dark man next to him handed him a spear that was even taller than himself. The man lifted the spear and with a strength and precision that Hector had never seen in any mortal man before, he threw the spear straight into the chest of one of Hector's men.

The men fell backwards off his horse and hit the ground like a stone. Instinctively Hector pulled the reins and stared in shock at the fallen man. He raised his eyes towards the Greek. Was he a man or a God?

Then Hector became angry with himself for having showed weakness. He drove his horse forward again and he and his men headed for the temple. As they approached, Hector raised his own spear and took aim for the Greek.

The golden-haired man didn't move, he simply stared in Hector's direction with his chilly, blue eyes. With a furious growl, Hector threw his spear, but the man moved out of its way as easily and lithely as if he had been a giant, powerful dancer. Then he followed the other man, who was obviously his subordinate into the temple.

Hector and his men drew their weapons and dismounted. They all stared in shock at the beheaded statue of Apollo outside the temple. Obviously, these men had no respect for the Sun god.

Followed by his apollonian guard, Hector cautiously entered the temple hall. He spotted something moving by the entrance to the great altar room and slowly moved forward. Then he suddenly heard the distinctive sound of arrows being fired. Several of his men were hit and fell to the ground, dead or screaming with agony.

The Greeks were all around them, they had walked into a trap. Hector fought bravely and put several of the Greeks to his sword. Then he moved towards the altar room and was shocked to see dead priests lying on the floor, covered with their own blood. Once again, he realized that these people had no respect for the Gods. Although Hector himself was not a very religious man, he found it sickening.

Burning with anger he moved forward, when he suddenly heard a loud, cold voice in his ear.

"You are very brave or very stupid to come after me alone."

Hector blinked and tried to make something out in the obscurity of the temple. Slowly, his eyes got used to the darkness and he could tell that there was the form of a man. A man with golden hair.

"You must be Hector."

"_I have heard many things about you," _Achilles could have added.

So this was the prince of Troy, he thought. Yes, he looked indeed in every inch as the reputable fighter he was. A tall man with the statue of a warrior. His face was almost entirely hidden under his helmet, but his fierce, dark eyes shone with a silent wrath.

Achilles looked closely at the man. He felt strange to see him in reality, as a human, not as the monster or demon that he had pictured him as.

"_Why should I come?" _he had answered when Odysseus wanted him to join forces with the other Greeks and head for Troy. _"The Trojans never harmed me."_

What a lie, his mind had told him. The Trojans had harmed him far worse than anyone else ever could. At least one of them.

"_Prince Hector, is he as good a warrior as they say?" _his eager young cousin, Patroclus had asked Odysseus. And of course Odysseus had answered that he was. _"The best of all the Trojans. And some would even say that he is better than all the Greeks too."_

Achilles had chuckled of course, at Odysseus blatant attempt to provoke him, but inside him, these words had waked up old feelings that had been buried alive in his soul. It all came back to him; the old grief, the bitterness and the regret from all those cold, empty nights when he had been lying alone in his bed, filled with hatred towards the man who was now standing before him. He had hated him, this unknown, unfamiliar prince, whose face he had never seen.

But even worse than his hatred had been his jealousy.

This feeling that had made him want to cut off all of his fingers, break all of the stones of his home in Laryssa into a thousand pieces, kill anyone who approached him and drown every inch of himself in blood. This feeling that ate his heart, mind and soul like a snake. This feeling that he had been forced to bury to stay alive and sane.

As he thought about this, Achilles' desire to immediately take the man's life rose inside him. He was going to kill him, that was all he knew. Spear him, cut his head off, and tear him into shreds, putting him through the same pain as he had been forced to suffer himself.

But something stopped him.

Instead, he chose to leave the shadows and step into the light were the prince could see him well. "Do you know who I am?" he asked calmly.

"These priests weren't armed!" Hector spat back, indicating the dead men in their robes that were spread across the floor.

Achilles reaction to this was absolute indifference, his eyes simply narrowed slightly.

Quickly, Hector pulled his sword and prepared to attack. Like a flash, Achilles swung himself onto the altar.

"Fight me!" Hector demanded, his sword raised.

Achilles looked down at him for a moment, thoughtful, with his dagger aimed at Hector's face. Then he abruptly pulled it back and stepped down.

"Why kill you now, prince of Troy?" he asked. "With no one here to see you fall?" Of course Hector wouldn't understand what he meant. No one would, except one person.

Slowly, Achilles walked through the temple's back gate and stepped out at the porch. Hector cautiously followed him with his sword ready. Achilles stared down towards the beach for a while, where his countrymen were reaching the shores. Then he turned back to the Trojan prince.

"Why did you come here?" Hector asked fiercely.

"They will be talking about this war for a thousand years," Achilles said simply.

"For a thousand years?" Hector repeated in disbelief. "In a thousand years, the dust from our bones will be gone."

"Yes, prince," Achilles agreed. "But our names will remain."

Achilles' second in command, Eudorus had come out from the temple now with the rest of Achilles' myrmidons. They were all armed to the teeth. The Trojan prince was surrounded; still he showed no signs of fear. Achilles felt a reluctant respect for the man. At least he wasn't a coward.

Achilles sighed and turned away from him. "Go home, prince," he said. Then after a short break, he added. "Drink some whine; make love to your wife. Tomorrow we will have our war."

Hector just shook his head. "You speak of this war as if it's a game. But how many wives waited Troy's gates for husbands that will never return?"

"Perhaps your brother can comfort them," Achilles answered wit a cool sense of humour. "I hear he is good at charming other men's wives."

Those words left the Trojan prince speechless. Achilles smiled lightly and gave him a sign to go. But as the prince turned to leave, Achilles suddenly spoke up again.

"And speaking of wives. Your own lady was king Eetion's daughter, wasn't she?"

Hector spun back to Achilles. "What of her?" he asked.

Achilles smiled nonchalantly. "Oh nothing at all. I thought you might be so kind as to give her... my greetings. Perhaps she will be in need of some comfort in the future..."

Hector's eyes had narrowed into slits as he watched the Greek's audacious grin. He was furious, you could tell and Achilles guessed that if he had been any other man, he would have finished him at once. _No one insults my wife and lives, _his eyes clearly said.

But the prince of Troy was more sensible than that. He knew that he wouldn't have a chance against all of Achilles' myrmidons. And his country needed him. So instead, he pulled a deep breath and left without a word.


	2. Chapter 2

**Lady Hades: **Ok, embarrassing confession. I am not really that familiar with the Iliad and I didn't have any idea that Achilles had killed Andromache's family. I spent some time thinking about it and finally decided that I'll keep writing as if it hadn't really happened, since the movie doesn't tell us anything about it. As for your speculations... Well, they may not be completely wrong, but I am planning to write this in a slightly different way than you might think, so I hope you'll enjoy it.

**Chapter 2**

After the incidents in the temple, Achilles headed back for the beach where all of the Greek ships had come to shore and where the men were busy making camp. After having exchanged some expressions of reverence with the giant Ajax, Achilles was relieved to see his young cousin, Patroclus who had protected his ship while he was fighting. He knew that the boy was burning with a desire to fight, but the time was not right yet.

Achilles was weary and moody and he showed no great enthusiasm when Eudorus declared that he had something to show him.

As they entered his tent, Achilles realized what Eudorus had been referring to. A girl, dressed in the characteristic robes of a temple maid was sitting at the back of the tent, tied to a peg. She refused to acknowledge the men's presence, only staring hard in front of herself.

She was a pretty thing with long chestnut brown curls and large brown eyes and usually, Achilles would have taken an interest. But right now, all he wanted was to be left alone. Besides, she looked a little too young for his taste, probably no more than seventeen or eighteen years old.

He turned back to Eudorus. "Not tonight."

"But my lord..." Eudorus started in surprise.

"I am tired from battle and I am in no mood for company right now," Achilles interrupted him sharply.

Eudorus nodded quickly, unwilling to upset is master. "I understand, my lord. So tell me, what do you want me to do with her?"

Achilles glanced at the girl and noticed that even if she tried to pretend that she wasn't listening, her body tensed. She was probably afraid that he would give her to the men for free disposal. However, that was not what Achilles had in mind.

"Take her to Patroclus," he decided after a moment's consideration. His cousin and the girl would be in about the same age and he knew that Patroclus would appreciate to have someone to vent his cruel fate of not being allowed to fight to. Besides, he knew very well that his cousin would never harm a girl.

Eudorus bowed and untied the girl. As he led her out of the tent, she glared defiantly at Achilles who smiled back faintly. The girl sure didn't seem very grateful for his idea. However, there was something haughty and proud in her eyes that caught Achilles' attention for a moment. He knew that she was a priestess, but there was something more than that about her. Something about her bearing was noble, almost royal...

Could that be right? Achilles asked himself. He had met quite a lot of royalties over the years and he was quite good at recognizing their ways. Still, it would be quite incredible if he had indeed a member of the Trojan royal house in his hands. But then Achilles shook it off. Whether the girl was a slave or a princess was of no interest to him. At least not right now.

After Eudorus had left with the girl, he pulled off his dirty, bloodstained armour and washed the sweat and blood from his body. He pulled a robe over his shoulders and poured himself a goblet of wine. He sank down in a corner of the dark tent, lost in dark broodings.

Over and over again, he brought to mind his encounter with the prince of Troy. He just couldn't believe that he hadn't killed the man! It had been the moment he had waited for all of these years. The prince was in front of him and at his mercy. All he had to do was to raise his sword and it would all be done. But he hadn't. Instead he had let him go. Why?

He sighed deeply. Maybe because it wasn't really the prince that he had wanted to kill, but his own pain. Pain was a weakness, an enemy and in Achilles mind, there was only one way of dealing with enemies. But pain could not be killed with swords. Nor with spears, bows or daggers. No... Deep inside, he knew very well that there was only one person who could kill his pain. And that was the person who had given it to him.

He closed his eyes as the memory; the painful memory came back to his mind.

"_I want you to come with me," he told her, his voice firm. "Come with me back to Laryssa."_

_She sighed heavily. "I have already told you that it's not possible."_

"_Of course it is!" he said impatiently. "We'll just sneak out at dawn tomorrow and no one will notice anything."_

_She shook her head. "So I would just sail away, leaving everything behind me?"_

"_Yes!" he snapped, starting to feel more and more upset about her hesitations. "Why not? Why should we not be together? I want you and I know you want me."_

_Once again, she sighed. "It's not as simple as that. And this is not about what I want."_

"_Well, what is it about then?" he snapped._

_She pulled a deep breath and fastened her eyes on him. "It's about the fact that I am a king's daughter," she said firmly. "And I have a duty towards my family."_

"_Your duty is to yourself," he objected._

"_No it's not," she said harshly. Then her face softened. "I know you can't really understand this, Achilles. But the truth is that as my father's daughter, I must follow his plans for me. If I didn't I would lose all honour."_

"_This is ridiculous," he spat back. "Your father can't tell you who you are supposed to love!"_

"_No, he can't," she agreed. "But he can decide who I am going to marry. And that is why I am betrothed to prince Hector of Troy."_

_He snorted by the mention of the name. "Oh yes, a fancy prince of a great nation," he scowled. You are going to be married off to be that prince's breeder, just so your father can make a fine alliance!"_

"_Don't talk like that!" she said angrily. _

"_Why not, it's true!"_

"_No it's not," she said empathically. "And I will thank you not to insult my future husband in my presence." She was silent for a moment, before she shook her head. "Like I said, you cannot possibly understand this so it makes no difference if I try to explain or not. Go home to Laryssa tomorrow; it will be for the best." Although her words were a little throaty, her voice was firm. _

_He swallowed and moved close to her, lifting his hands to hold her face. "Please, don't do this," he whispered. "Don't make me go away on my own. I..." He swallowed again, trying to keep his voice steady. "I need you. What I feel for you... I have never felt that way about any woman before. Please, I can't live my life without you."_

_In that moment, he bared his soul to her. For the first time in his life, he took the risk of being vulnerable and exposing his true emotions to another human being. He laid his heart by her feet and offered it to her; he offered everything that he had to give. _

_For a moment, there was a glimpse in her eyes that made his hopes blossom. He watched her breathlessly, but the moment quickly passed and her eyes became cold and determined. Once again, she was turned back into the dutiful daughter. And he suddenly knew that no matter what he offered, it wouldn't make any difference, since she didn't want it. _

"_I am sorry," she said flatly. "But you must learn to. Because you will." _

Achilles closed his eyes even tighter when he remembered her last words. Such a cold thing to say. And it had been the last thing they had said to each other. After their talk, he couldn't bear to stay a moment longer and he had sailed away without a word of farewell to anyone. He had gone back to Laryssa carrying hatred and bitterness in his luggage.

He cursed himself silently. He should have accepted Eudorus' gift. Bedding that girl might have stopped him from dwelling upon those damned memories. But then again, he had tried before. Oh, yes he had. They had been beautiful, ugly, tall, short, fat, thin. He had tried with dozens or hundreds of women and girls. Some of them had managed to sooth his pains, but none of them could ever make him forget. Not about her.

Still, he could easily see her before his eyes. Her long, dark hair and her beautiful hazel eyes, her tall and thin body, her elegant posture and her proud way of raising her head. In every inch, she was royalty. In his dreams, he would see her as she turned towards him, smiling and laughing. But the smile was not for him.

Achilles bowed his head and stared into his wine. Slowly, his lips formed her name. "Andromache." He said quietly.

Andromache had been extremely relieved when she heard that Hector had come back safe to the palace. Not caring that the entire court was watching, she ran to meet him and embraced him tightly. Hector jokingly said that her way of strangling him was far worse than anything the Greeks had tried against him.

Despite his light tone of voice, she could tell that he was concerned. Of course, she had already heard that the beaches of Troy were lost to the enemy, but at the moment, she was too relieved too see her husband alive to care much about the amounts of sand. But she knew,like everybody else, that this would bring the Greeks closer.

After her husband had assured his father and brother that he was unharmed, she decided to take him aside. He looked weary and he needed to be taken care of. She promised her father in law that Hector would give a report later.

She led Hector to their bedroom and helped him pull off his dirty armour. Then she had the servants fill a tub of water for him. Hector objected, saying all he needed was a washbowl, but Andromache refused to listen and forced him to sit down in the hot water. As she helped him wash his hair, he told her about what had happened during the day.

Apparently, the Greeks had an enormous fleet, perhaps as much as a thousand ships. Agamemnon had managed to gather every king in Greece or so it seemed. The first ships had reached the beaches before Hector had been able to line up his forces. They had been hopelessly outnumbered and many of them had been forced to retire back to the city.

Then Hector told her that he and the apollonian guard had headed for the temple of Troy's patron, which had been attacked by Greek warriors.

The temple! Suddenly Andromache sensed a wave of coldness in her stomach. "Briseis was in the temple this morning."

Hector flinched and turned to face her. "Are you certain? I thought she was still at the palace?" His eyes were filled with worry for his young cousin.

Vehemently, Andromache shook her head. "She was going to take part in some ceremony. She left early..." She swallowed. "Did you see her in the temple?"

He shook his head slowly. "No... There was a lot of dead people in there, but only priests."

"They killed priests?" Andromache asked incredulously.

Hector nodded grimly. "Yes they did. Unarmed priests at that. Hopefully, Briseis got away. If she didn't..." He found the eyes of his wife and they both knew what he meant. If Briseis hadn't got away, she would be a prisoner in the Greeks' camp. And next to that prospective, death would probably seem like a blessing from the gods.

Hector continued by telling her that his second in command, Tactor was dead. He had been speared to death by one of those men in the temple. Those black myrmidons.

Andromache flinched so fiercely she almost dropped the jar of water she held in her hands. "Myrmidons?" she whispered hoarsely.

Hector gave her a puzzled look. "Have you heard of them? They are some of the finest warriors in Greece."

"Yes...," Andromache mumbled, quickly regaining her composure. "I think my father might have mentioned them at some point.

"Oh I see," Hector said. He continued to look at her closely for a moment. Then he got up from the tub and wrapped himself in a towel. "Thank you for your attentions, my love, but I really think I should have a talk with my father now."

"Yes, of course, she mumbled back.

When Hector had left, Andromache's legs folded under her and she had to hold on to the wall to keep herself from falling.


	3. Chapter 3

**Chapter 3**

Achilles had unexpectedly been summoned to king Agamemnon's quarters. He had agreed to go, although not very cheerfully. He didn't have a high opinion about neither the king nor his brother, Menelaus and he basically considered them a pair of pompous and stubborn old goats. However, he realized that if there was ever a time he needed to stay on good terms with Agamemnon, this was it.

But it had all been a mistake. When Achilles left Agamemnon's tent, his temper was three times more boiling than before he entered.

Naturally, Agamemnon had gathered his faithful puppies, the kings of Greece in his tent. Much to Achilles' disgust, they were practically licking his boots after today's great victory. You would think that old Aggie had single-handedly defeated the Trojan army.

When he spotted Achilles, Agamemnon had ordered his followers to leave them alone. Odysseus, the only Grecian king that Achilles truly respected had reminded him that wars were old men talking and young men fighting, as he left. Achilles knew what Odysseus was trying to say. _"Stay calm and don't let yourself be provoked."_

But inside, Odysseus was just as much of a politician as Agamemnon was. He couldn't possibly understand. And Agamemnon seemed to know just what to say to make Achilles temper flare. He knew his soft spot, his desire to make his mark, to make his name immortal. And he liked to inform Achilles that even if his father was a king, the truth was that he was just a soldier.

"_History remembers kings, not soldiers!" _he had shouted. Then he had continued by declaring that tomorrow Troy would be his, as well as all of the glory.

Achilles had listened, furious, but still somehow managing to keep himself under control. Agamemnon hadn't found out that he had spared the life of the Trojan prince, but Achilles almost wish that he could throw the news in the king's face, just to tease him. But he bit his tongue.

It wasn't until Agamemnon called for his guards, who dragged a sobbing girl into the room that Achilles couldn't hold his anger back anymore. The girl was the temple maid, Briseis and apparently, Agamemnon had simply taken her from his cousin's tent.

Agamemnon had called her "spoils of war" and his tone of voice showed perfectly clear what plans he had on her behalf.

Achilles didn't really know why, but somehow, the girl's hopeless situation sent a wave of fury through his body. He didn't know why. Taking women as slaves from the enemy was a natural part of the conquest and he had been to war many times. Perhaps it was the girl's humiliation and her complete helplessness? Perhaps it was because Agamemnon seemed to believe that he could do whatever he liked against him, against Achilles, the mightiest warrior in Greece?

He had ordered the soldiers to release her and when they didn't, he had unsheathed his sword.

But he had been stopped.

Surprisingly, the young girl spoke up and declared that she wouldn't let anyone die for her sake. She had also stated that "_If killing is your only talent, then it's you I pity."_

Her words had left Achilles speechless, much to Agamemnon's amusement. He had strolled up to the girl and run his fingers through her hair, announcing that he was going to let her give him a nice warm bath.

"_You sack of wine!" _ Achilles had spat. He had continued by declaring that before his time was over, he would look down at the king's corpse and smile. Then he had angrily left. He had marched straight back to his tent. When Patroclus asked him what had become of the girl, he just snapped something in reply. Wisely, Patroclus had not approached him again.

Achilles fury now overshadowed his desire for glory and revenge. He didn't care what anyone said, he would not waste a moment's effort on that pompous fool in the battle tomorrow.

Andromache clutched the sheet under her hands as she sat next to her husband on their bed. Hector's eyes were set on Astyanax, who was lying in his crib, smiling and playing with the wooden lion that his father had carved for him.

Andromache could sense the tension in her husband's body next to her, just as she knew that he could sense hers. They rarely needed words to express their feelings to each other, they instinctively knew.

And there was a reason to be troubled. Priam had held a counsel earlier this evening to discuss how they would make strategies for the next day and how to keep the Greeks outside the walls of Troy.

Andromache and her new sister-in-law, Helen had listened to the conferring from a safe distance. Hector and his brother Paris had sat next to their father. Being the head of Troy's war force, Hector had been at the centre of attention for the king's advisors.

They were all certain that Troy could win this war, especially with the brave prince Hector's assist, or so had Priam's old warrior Glaucus stated. Hector didn't seem too optimistic though and his frown deepened when a high priest of Apollo declared that he had received a sign from Apollo that would help them succeed.

Andromache had sighed to herself when she heard this. Her husband had a sceptic nature and she knew that he would consider this nonsense. The problem was that his father was a devotedly religious man; he had been so ever since the sun god had cured Hector's illness when he was a young child.

Hector told the men that he had faced a Greek who cut the head off the statue of Apollo outside his temple and that the god hadn't struck back. His message was clear; the Gods wouldn't fight this war for them.

That was when Paris unexpectedly had interfered. The king's youngest son had declared that since he had brought this war upon his country, it was up to him to put and end to it. He would fight a duel for Helen with Menelaus. Priam had been stunned, but his son would hear no objections.

As she was sitting next to her husband, staring down at her son, Andromache felt coldness inside her. It was something ominous about the situation. And she knew that Paris' duel wouldn't make things right.

"The man who killed Tactor outside Apollo's temple. I have never seen a spear thrown like that..." Hector suddenly said slowly. He turned to her, looking troubled. "An impossible throw. The man... he barely even resembled a man. He seemed to have been born to fight, almost like a god. He was..."

"Achilles." Andromache finished, her voice quiet.

Hector's eyes narrowed slightly. "Yes," He said. "Yes, I guess it must have been. I have heard of him. The finest warrior in all of Greece."

"Some say that he is better than anyone else in the world," Andromache said flatly, looking intently at Astyanax.

Hector nodded slightly. "I can believe that." He was silent for a while. Andromache could feel that he was watching her, but she wouldn't face him. When he spoke up again, he chose his words carefully. "That man said something to me... He told me to give you... his greetings."

Andromache's face paled, but she didn't turn towards him and she said nothing.

"Andromache, is there something you wish to tell me?" Hector asked. His voice was gentle.

She shook her head. "No," she answered immediately. And she was telling the truth, because there really wasn't anything.

When Hector placed his hand against her cheek, she felt a sudden, icy fear inside her. She fiercely grabbed his hand and kissed it. "Don't go tomorrow," she begged him, her voice shaky. "Please don't go."

Hector tried to calm her down by telling her that Paris would be fighting in the morning, not him, but this was not nearly enough to calm her down. Fifty thousand Greeks had not crossed the seas to watch his brother fight.

Hector smiled lightly and told her – not the first time – that she would make a fine general. Andromache usually loved to be given that sort of compliments, but tonight it was no comfort. Once again, she begged him. He had been fighting his whole life. Why couldn't he, just this time, let other men do battle?

Hector assured her that he didn't wish to fight and risk leaving her and Astyanax behind – but maybe he wouldn't have a choice. Andromache felt tears in the corners of her eyes. She felt like she could tie him up inside this room, to keep him from entering his armour and fight.

"I can't loose you," she stated. "I won't survive." Tears overflowed and fell down her cheeks. Hector did his best to comfort her, taking her into his arms and kissing her deeply, but he couldn't take her fears away and he knew it.

"I must see Paris," he said softly and left.

Andromache stayed in their room, trying desperately to calm herself. She could tell that Hector had been a little surprise by her almost hysterical pleading. He had been fighting during all of their seven years of marriage and had been forced to say goodbye to his wife many times before he rode out to battle. Andromache had always been a strong and controlled young woman and she had never once cried before she saw him off.

But of course, this was one of the things Hector didn't know about her, one of those few things that he could never sense.

Andromache wandered about in the room, scared and anxious. _"Why him?" _she asked herself. _"Why of all men?" _Better than anyone she knew what he was capable of. She knew his tremendous skills in battle, his strength and his desire for glory. She knew that she had every reason to fear for her husband's life.

However, his ability to fight wasn't the only reason why she feared him. Although, she was reluctant to admit it, she knew that his presence in Troy was a threat against her piece of mind. For seven years, she had been able to push the memory of him out of her mind, but knowing that he was close made it so much more difficult.

She closed her eyes and travelled eight years back in time, to when she was a nineteen year old princess of Thebe, the only daughter of King Eetion. Back then, she had been alone, contemplative and nervous. She had known that soon, her time would come; the time when she would be sent away by her father to a foreign country, to a stranger that she would call her husband.

Andromache was an obedient daughter and she knew that duty demanded that she followed her father's wishes. But she still couldn't help being nervous. She didn't know anything about her future husband or his country and she really didn't have any idea what she could expect. She had found it difficult to sleep. She had spent, long, restless hours staring up into the ceiling and tried to tell herself that she had to be strong and brave.

It was during those days that her family suddenly had unexpected visitors. After a terrible storm, a reputable Greek warlord and his men arrived, in want of shelter. Being a Theban, king Eetion had not been particularly delighted with the uninvited guests. But he was a far too sensible man to refuse hospitality to the most feared man in Greece: Achilles, son of king Peleus.

However, king Eetion had warned his family to stay away from the Greeks. He wouldn't allow his seven sons to befriend them and he didn't want his daughter to go anywhere near them. Andromache wasn't disappointed, she was as much a Theban as her father and she was far too deep inside her thoughts to care much for the guests.

But it turned out that it wouldn't be so easy to keep her distance.

Andromache could still remember it like yesterday, how she had walked bare-footed along the cliffs down at the beaches of Thebe, downside her father's castle. The air had captured her hair as she turned her eyes towards the horizon and tried to picture the kingdom of Troy somewhere far away.

"_Well, hello there," _a voice had suddenly said. Andromache remembered how she had flinched and turned around. Her breath had been caught in her throat.

Of course she had heard about him, like everybody else. She knew that he was an extremely skilful and bold warrior. But she had never been prepared for his beauty and his intense, physical presence. He was standing leaned against one of the rocks on the beach with his muscular arms crossed. He was a tall, athletically built and powerful man with a blonde man of hair that was pulled back behind his ears and fell down his shoulders. His eyes were as blue as the sea and they sparkled towards her.

His mouth was formed into a broad grin that somehow immediately displeased her. He didn't look at her with the respect that she was used to, being the king of Thebe's daughter. His smile was audacious, daring and no matter how attractive he was, Andromache felt her anger turn her face reddish.

"_I suppose you are Andromache," _he had said casually.

She tossed her head. _"It's _princess_ Andromache," _she corrected him frostily.

He frowned slightly. _"But your name is Andromache, isn't it?"_

"_Yes, of course it is!" _she snapped angrily. _"But since I am a princess, I would prefer if you addressed me accordingly."_

This only made him laugh. _"Oh, you would? Well, let me tell you, dear princess that I really couldn't care less what you prefer. I'll call you whatever I please."_

Back in those days, Andromache had not yet obtained the self-control she now possessed. She was immediately infuriated by his words. Who did this man think he was? _"Well, if you think I'll answer, you are mistaken."_

"_Oh, I don't care if you answer as long as you listen," _he answered, still smiling.

Andromache glared evilly at him. _"I am a princess," _she repeated with dignity. _"And that is what you'll call me."_

Achilles chuckled slightly and raised his eyebrows. _"You really don't like not to get what you want, do you?" _he said. Then his eyes narrowed and fleetingly roamed across her body. _"Well, let me tell you, dear Andromache – neither do I."_

Then he had given her a final, knowing smile and walked away, leaving Andromache behind him, seething with anger. She immediately decided that the man was impossible, a savage and ill-bred, Greek beast. She was glad that her father didn't want her anywhere near him and she certainly wouldn't approach him willingly.

But it turned out that Achilles didn't care if she wanted to meet him or not. Nor did he care about her fathers wishes. He did as he pleased and came to see her anyway; not bothering about the fact that she clearly marked that she wanted nothing to do with him. If she was out for a walk, he showed up behind a tree and nearly scared her to death, if she was riding, he cached up with her and forced her to stop, if she was in the gardens, or in her room or anywhere else in the castle, he would always find her.

Their meetings always left Andromache furious and consummated by a wish to strangle him. Still, there was something that almost made her long for his company. Achilles was like no other man she had ever met and he both scared and fascinated her.

Despite being the son of a king, he didn't seem to care about what anyone said or did, except himself. He obeyed no orders except his own, he had no allegiances, no loyalties and terms like duty and responsibility were just words to him.

To Andromache, who had always been taught things such as self-control, discipline, dutifulness and devotion by her parents, his ways were a stimulating change. _"You must feel more than you show, always think before you talk," _her mother had said over and over again.With Achilles, she didn't have to watch her tongue; she didn't have to care about what anyone thought of her.

The memories were bittersweet as Andromache thought about how they had rode their horses together over the sand banks in a wild gallop. She remembered how he had pushed her into the water from one of the bridges, how he had put sand inside her dress, how they had swam together in the deep, crystal blue water. How he had taught her how to use a sword... Of course, Andromache had been discreet and done her best not to let her family find out about her meetings with the Greek warrior. But she found it harder and harder to conceal them. The meetings – and the feelings that blossomed inside her.

She found herself marvelling at his strong male body and his full, flaxen hair. She started dreaming of him at night as she lay in her bed. She found herself wondering what it would be like to feel his strong, hard body close to her and to run her fingers through his blonde mane of hair.

She wanted him and she knew that he wanted her. She saw it in his eyes as he looked at her, the way he followed her every movement. Sometimes she felt like she would burst. Her body, her heart and her soul was screaming for him. But somehow she always managed to keep things from going too far.

Despite her growing affections for Achilles, Andromache never forgot about the fact that she was betrothed. She knew that she could never give her hand to Achilles, no matter what she felt for him. She loved her father and she knew that she had to honour him and her country.

But Achilles wouldn't understand. He kept asking her, almost begging her to run away with him, to his home in Laryssa. When Andromache tried to explain that she couldn't, he refused to accept her words. It was as if he didn't want to understand.

When he was finally forced to realize that she wouldn't come with him, he had left with his men without a single word of farewell. Andromache had been distraught to find him gone, but deep inside, she knew that it was for the best. Still, she sometimes missed him so much her heart almost ached.

But only a year later, she had married Hector and taken her place as his wife. When Andromache started her new life in Troy, she had silently vowed to herself not to let the past hunt her. She had done well. For seven years she had been a happy woman and a loyal wife. She loved and respected her husband. He was the father of her child. She had no regrets. Still, the memories of the Greek warrior had somehow always been with her, buried alive somewhere deep inside her soul.

She had believed that she would never see him again. She had _hoped _not to see him again. But now he was here and he was a threat to everything she was and everyone she loved. Andromache swallowed. Somehow, she had a feeling that he had not only come to Troy to hunt for glory.


	4. Chapter 4

**Chapter 4**

Standing at a hilltop, Achilles was watching as thousands and thousands of Greeks were marching towards their enemies. They were marching towards the high, thick walls where thousands and thousands of Trojans were positioned to protect the royal city.

He could see his countrymen marching there with their helmets covering their faces, carrying spears and heavy shields. Agamemnon and his brother were at the front, but of course they were not marching. They preferred riding in their fancy carriages. But somewhere among those uncountable soldiers were also Odysseus, Ajax and their men. Men he trusted, men he respected...

His own men, the myrmidons were watching the scene closely. Their backs were turned towards him, but even if they didn't know that he was standing behind them, Achilles could sense their looks of accusation. They thought he was behaving oddly and egocentrically to refuse to take part in this battle. Still, they knew better than to question his decisions.

"_We stay until Agamemnon groans to have Achilles back!" _he had spat.

"_As you wish," _the loyal Eudorus had answered simply.

But Patroclus wasn't as inclined to accept his decision. The young man had been deeply disappointed, not only because he wasn't allowed to fight but also because Achilles had refused to join the Greek forces merely because of his personal feud with Agamemnon. He seemed to feel betrayed, like his much admired older cousin had let him down. And he had not held his tongue.

Looking at Patroclus' stiffly erect spine, Achilles could tell that he was still upset and that he was burning with desire to join the battle. Achilles knew the feeling. As he was watching the lines of Trojan and Greek soldiers positioning themselves face to face with each other, he was filled by a familiar urge to grab his sword and lead his men in a valiant attack against the Trojans. But still, his anger and his wounded pride was stronger.

There was something inside him that told him that this journey had been wrong from the start. He was here for the wrong reasons. Like his mother had said, he might find glory in Troy, but if he could only have glory on Agamemnon's conditions, then he was better off without it. It would probably be for the best if he went back home as soon as he could set sail.

But there was still something that held him here.

Casually, he glanced towards the high walls. By now, she must have found out that he had come to fight her country. Was she looking for him from one of the towers? Would she ask herself why he wasn't there? Perhaps he was all wrong. Perhaps she didn't even remember him? Perhaps she just considered him one of the many Grecian warlords that threatened her home?

Achilles forced these speculations out of his head as he watched Agamemnon and Menelaus leave the crowd of Greeks and approach the Trojans. They were met by two Trojans riders. Achilles knew who they were.

----

As the enormous mass of Greek soldiers moved closer and closer, Andromache had to force herself to stay in her seat. She was positioned in one of the high towers above the gate. Andromache and Helen sat next to their father-in-law, king Priam. Helen's face was ghostly pale. Andromache realized that she had a reason to be afraid. Paris was determined to fight Menelaus and Andromache knew, as Helen probably did too, that his odds would not be great in such a fight. Paris wasn't a warrior; he was hardly more than a boy.

And if Paris died, what would become of Helen then? Perhaps she feared that Priam would give her back to Menelaus in a desperate attempt to make peace? Andromache knew that he would never do that, but of course, Helen didn't know the king very well and she couldn't be as certain.

Andromache was concerned for Paris too, but she had to admit that she was even more worried about Hector. She just couldn't imagine that he would stand by and watch Menelaus cut his little brother to pieces. Andromache knew that he didn't want to fight, like he had told her the night before, but maybe he wouldn't have a choice. And if he did...

Andromache pinched her lips closely together. Somehow she found it hard to tear her eyes away from the crowds of Greek soldiers. She hardly even wanted to admit to herself that she was looking for someone. Anxiously, frantically, she was trying to make out a familiar form among the lines of soldiers.

But strangely enough, she couldn't spot the myrmidons in their distinguishing black suits among the soldiers. Andromache would have thought that they would march in the front line, but they were nowhere to be seen. Andromache was partly relieved, but she somehow had a suspicion that there was a particular reason why they weren't there, why _he _wasn't there.

She forced herself to stop thinking about him and focused her attention on her husband and his brother who was riding out to face King Agamemnon and Menelaus of Sparta. It was too far away for her and the others to hear what was said, but Andromache could guess quite well what was going on.

After some insults and threats exchanged between Paris and Menelaus, apparently Agamemnon made some sort of offer to her husband. "Swear allegiance to me and I will spare your city." And of course, Hector rejected the offer without hesitation and claimed that Troy would never kneel down to a foreign ruler.

Naturally, that was just what Agamemnon wanted to hear and he prepared to make his men ready to attack when Paris interfered. This was not between two nations, it was between two men. He gave Menelaus his offer: They would fight and the winner would have Helen. After some discussions between the two Greek brothers, Menelaus accepted Paris' challenge.

Andromache guessed that Agamemnon vowed to leave Troy if Menelaus won, but she didn't trust him for a moment. Hector probably didn't either, but still he stepped aside and allowed his brother to fight.

The fight began and Andromache realized quickly that her misgivings had been correct. Menelaus had the upper hand from the first moment. He was an experienced warrior; strong, powerful and deadly. Paris could count his quickness and litheness to his advantage, but his uncertainties made him unable to use them properly.

When Menelaus managed to cut Paris' leg and strike him sword less to the ground, Helen gave a choked cry. She hurried towards the rail, as if she could somehow save Paris by moving closer to him. Priam was right behind her and only through great will force, Andromache managed to stay on her place.

In panic, Paris crawled back to take shelter behind his brother. Andromache swallowed. This was the moment she had feared. And she knew what Hector would do.

"Fight him, son," she heard Priam's intense voice. "Fight him!"

At the dusty ground between the two armies, Paris was hiding behind his brother. Menelaus bellowed furiously: "This is not honour! This is not worthy of Royalty!"

Hector stood before his brother. He felt torn, but he knew what he had to do. After Paris' violation of the agreement, Agamemnon was preparing the Greek soldiers for battle. He knew that this could mean the end of Troy. But it didn't matter. "He is my brother," he told Menelaus simply and nothing else needed to be said.

Menelaus raised his sword, fully prepared to kill the unarmed and wounded Paris.

"_Forgive me, Andromache," _Hector thought. Then he pulled his own sword and ran it through the king of Sparta's body.

----

At the hilltop, Achilles stepped forward to have a better view. His men quickly glanced behind them before turning back to the scene before their eyes.

Achilles was not surprised at what had happened. One look at that little prince and you could tell that he was not fit to fight with swords. But he had to admit that he was slightly stunned by his older brother's willingness to put his life at risk for his sake. And he wasn't just risking his own life, but also his entire country.

Even at this distance, Achilles could hear Agamemnon's scream as he witnessed his brother being slain. He could foresee his actions.

"_All right," _he thought to himself. _"Now let's see what stuff your prince is made of." _

_----_

Things had happened so quickly, Andromache didn't really know how they had started or in which order they had taken place. Suddenly, Hector and Paris were riding towards the gates in gallop. The soldiers created a path for their princes towards the walls. Hector sent Paris in through the gates and gave a sign to the archers to fire. The Greeks had pulled forward and were within shot range. The masterly Trojan archers fired and their arrows flied down and buried themselves in hundreds of Greek bodies.

Then, Hector drove his men forward and suddenly, the Trojans and the Greeks were blended in a mass of spears, swords and shields.

Andromache could tell that the Trojans had the advantage. Their desire to defend their country seemed to be stronger than the Greeks lust to conquer it. The skilful archers continued to shoot their arrows and they were excellent when it came to hitting their target. Their arrows fell like rain over the Greeks and made them scatter. The Greeks didn't seem to have the power to resist the Trojan rage. Or perhaps it was the absence of the myrmidons?

"Get them back into line!" Achilles muttered in frustration from his viewpoint.

As if he had read his mind, Odysseus ordered his men back into the lines. But like the experienced strategist he was, Hector took the opportunity before the order had been carried out. He pushed his front line forward and forced the Greeks apart once again.

The Greeks seemed to be about to give way, but there was one of them who refused to succumb to his enemy. Andromache's eyes followed one of the Greeks. Even from the tower she was able to make him out. The man was a giant, more than seven feet tall and he was single-handedly fighting a group of Trojans. Despite his size, he was surprisingly quick and the soldiers fell by his feet.

Andromache pulled a sharp breath when she saw Hector charging towards the giant on his horse. Her husband raised his spear to finish the man, but the giant managed to block the attack with his shield. Hector was flung from the saddle and fell to the dusty ground.

He was quickly on his feet again with his sword ready to take on the giant and the heavy club he fought with. Andromache's eyes didn't leave the two men as they engaged in their battle. She knew that Hector was strong and extremely skilful, but would he really manage to defeat this giant man?

From his hilltop, Achilles watched coldly as his ally, Ajax fought against the Trojan prince. Achilles knew that the prince would have to show that he was indeed the best warrior in Troy if he was going to defeat him.

Ajax managed to hit Hector in the face with his club and the prince stumbled to the ground. Ajax raised his weapon to kill the Trojan prince, but he managed to get his hands on a shield and cover himself with it.

Ajax was momentarily taken aback and Hector took advantage of his surprise. He grabbed a spear and attacked. But even a spear halfway across his belly was not enough to break Ajax. The giant man spat blood, but somehow, he broke the spear and pulled it out of his body. Then he punched the Trojan prince who once again fell to the ground.

Ignorant of each other, Hector and Andromache were intently watching the scene from their viewpoints. Their minds were filled with completely different feelings. Andromache gasped when she saw that Hector had fallen again. She was grasped by an insane impulse to jump from the tower to aid him. _"Come on, my love, you must get back on your feet," _she thought in panic.

Achilles feelings were slightly more mixed. Somehow, he knew that he should be disappointed if he wouldn't have the opportunity to kill Hector on his own. After all, that was the main reason why he had come here. But still, he suddenly wished that it would all be over and done with. _"Go on," _he told Ajax silently. _"Go on and finish it, once and for all."_

But Hector managed to grab a sword and get back on his feet again. When Ajax had parried one of his attacks, he wasn't quick enough to prepare for the next charge. Hector managed to drive his sword through his chest.

The giant tried to push the prince away, he tried to grab his neck to strangle him, but his strength was faltering and Hector's powers were too much for him. Finally, he couldn't do it anymore. The Trojans cheered loudly as Ajax fell.

Andromache's heart was filled with an immense relief and joy. Hector was alive and she somehow knew that the Trojans would win this battle now. She glanced at Priam and spotted the pride and contentment he took in his son's strength and character. She smiled warmly back to him. Their problems were far from over, but at least they seemed to have managed to overcome this trial.

At the hilltop, Achilles watched the cheering Trojans with a flat face. The Greeks were pulling back. Once again, the Trojan prince had proven his worth.

Grimly, Achilles turned away from the scene.


	5. Chapter 5

**Chapter 5**

"I don't understand why you are being so concerned," Andromache said, trying her best to keep her voice down, since Astyanax was sound asleep in his crib in the corner.

The battle was over; the Greeks had been forced to pull back in shame. Her husband was now out of his armour and he was miraculously without any serious wounds. They were together again, alone in their chamber with their son. This moment should have been peaceful. But it was anything but.

Hector was wandering about across the floor with a deep frown painted across his forehead. As an answer to her words, he sighed deeply and pulled his fingers through his tousled hair.

"Troy has won the battle," Andromache continued. "You drove the Greeks away. Our city is safe."

"For the time being," Hector finished grimly.

"For the time being? The Greeks will not be foolish enough to attack us again any time soon after this," Andromache insisted.

Hector shook his head slowly. "It's not as easy as that."

Andromache sighed to herself. She just wanted to celebrate the victory and she was in no mood to listen to any forebodings right now, but she knew that her husband had a realistic character. "Well, how is it then?"

Hector's eyes met hers. "Did you see the myrmidons fighting today? The black armours?"

The word _myrmidon _was enough to make Andromache flinch, but she managed to answer. "No, I didn't."

Hector nodded. "Neither did I. They weren't there."

Andromache closed her eyes slowly. "So if they had been there..."

"The outcome might have been rather different," Hector finished flatly. It was silent between them for a moment before Hector spoke up again. "I have hard that Achilles and king Agamemnon don't get along. That soldier seems to have a hard time with authorities."

"_Believe me, he does," _Andromache thought sarcastically to herself.

"The longer their rift continues, the better for us," Hector concluded thoughtfully. "Our chances of defending ourselves against a Greek army without Achilles are quite decent, but if he is with them, they are drastically decreasing."

Andromache shook her head. "This war doesn't depend on one man."

"No, it doesn't," Hector agreed. "But there are also his warriors to consider. And besides," he sighed, "I am afraid that father's councillors will under estimate the Greeks after this. They will think that we are invincible and they might come to some unwise decisions."

"Then you'll have to talk to your father," Andromache said encouraging. "You are his son and he will listen to you."

"Will he?" Hector answered gloomily. "I guess that's all I can hope for."

His face was still very grim. Andromache sighed. Although she was becoming more and more worried, she did her best to see things from the bright side. She placed her hand against her husband's unshaved cheek.

"We won a great battle today," she told him empathically. "And thanks to you, our walls still stand. Right now, it doesn't matter how we did it and it doesn't matter what will happen in the future. What matters is that we won. A victory can never be a bad sign."

Hector shook his head slowly. His sense of perfection wouldn't allow him to be satisfied with this triumph. She knew well that his demands on himself were unlimited.

"This will weaken the morale of the Greeks," she continued. "Menelaus is dead. Many of them probably think that they came here to restore his honour by getting his wife back. What will they fight for now? Agamemnon will find it difficult to motivate them again."

Hector smiled slightly. "You are right," he said. "You are always right."

Andromache squeezed her husband's hand slowly. "You must take pride in what you have done," she said firmly. "You cannot be a warrior all the time. You must let yourself relax."

Hector's smile grew wider. "Maybe I can do that – if you'll help me," he added, pulling her a little closer to his body.

----

Achilles was sitting outside of his tent with a goblet of wine in his hand. He was thoughtfully watching Patroclus who was carefully strolling through the wet sand by the water. Despite the cruelty of his situation – Achilles' refusal to let him fight – his cousin was looking extremely content at the moment.

The reason was standing in front of him.

The previous night, one of Odysseus' men had brought him a warning. After a conference with Agamemnon, Odysseus had found out that the young temple maid, Briseis had been given away to the soldiers. When Achilles found her, she was in a precarious situation to say the least, but he fortunately got to her in time, before the soldiers had inflicted any serious damage to her.

As Achilles carried the girl to his tent, he had been met by his cousin, who was horrified to see Briseis' bruised face and torn robe. Most of all, he would have wanted to skin the men who had done this to her alive. Achilles managed to talk him out of it and convinced him that it was more important that the girl was taken care of.

From the first moment, it was obvious that the girl didn't trust Achilles. She pushed him away when he tried to clean her wounds, angrily snapping that she didn't want his help. At first, Achilles had simply rolled his eyes at the little wildcat, but when she used the rag to slap him, he was forced to realize that she was serious.

When Patroclus made an attempt to approach the girl, she looked suspicious, but his soft voice and gentleness calmed her. She reluctantly allowed him to care for her wounds. Patroclus tried to make conversation with her, but she wasn't eager to reply. It was obvious that Achilles' presence in the tent still intimidated her and made her tense. Finally, he realized that had better leave.

By now, Patroclus was taking Briseis for a short walk. She was still somewhat unsteady on her legs, but he held her hand as they slowly walked through the water's edge and let the gentle waves flood over their feet.

Achilles couldn't help smiling a little as he saw the look on Patroclus face. He was clearly smitten and hardly seemed to be able to take his eyes off the girl. And who could blame him? Even with her face bruised, the girl was pretty with her long brown curls and sparkling eyes. She was also in need of help and Achilles knew that was something that appealed to his young cousin who longed to be considered a real man and warrior.

The girl's feelings for Patroclus seemed to be a little bit more difficult to interpret. She was certainly not unaware of his interests, she would have to be blind to be, and nor was she unmoved. However, she seemed to have a hard time deciding if she should encourage him or not. She was undoubtedly influenced by the fact that she was a Trojan and that he belonged to the enemy. Casually, Achilles remembered his suspicions about whether the girl was royalty. He wondered if Patroclus had noticed the girl's obviously noble heritage? He probably hadn't and even if he did, it would hardly make any difference to him.

As Achilles watched the young couple, he sighed to himself. Was it really so easy to fall in love when you were young? Their feelings seemed to be so open, so innocent and honest. But then why had he never experienced these sorts of uncomplicated emotions? Maybe _he _was the problem. Maybe he was unable to care for another human being wholeheartedly and without a selfish interest.

In frustration, Achilles grabbed a handful of sand from the ground and let the tiny grains slip down into the red liquid in his goblet. Ever since the battle the day before, he had been in a peculiar mood and seeing the young romance before his eyes only strengthened this feeling. He had spent the whole night brooding and more and more, he had started to question his decision to come here.

Why had he taken his men with him across the sea to fight this unfamiliar country? To win glory? Yes. To make his name remembered? Absolutely. But as the war had been going on, these two reasons had been weakened in his eyes. He didn't want to be remembered or have his glory as one of Agamemnon's pets. In fact, he wanted nothing to do with the man at all. He would probably have sailed home a long time ago, if there hadn't been something else that firmly held him to this place.

That was the main reason why he had come here: to take revenge on the Trojan prince. But what motive was there behind his desire to kill Hector? Achilles asked himself. Because he loved someone close to the prince? Was that really true?

Achilles' eyes moved back to the couple on the beach, watched grimly as they splashed water on each other and laughed carefully. As he did, he couldn't keep the feelings from creeping up at him again.

He was jealous.

He had felt jealousy ever since the night before when Briseis flatly refused to let him take care of her. Her attitude towards him had been hostile and contemptuous ever since he first met her, even though he had done his best to save her life and her virtue at two occasions. Her dislike wouldn't have bothered him – if she hadn't so clearly showed that she trusted Patroclus. To him, she smiled and laughed. He was a man she could feel comfortable with.

Achilles saw things clearly: he wasn't jealous because he had any particular affection for the girl; he was jealous because she was with another man. And even though this man was his own cousin, his pupil and student, he still wanted to make her his.

And what about Andromache? The woman he had felt closer to than anyone else he had ever met. The woman he had considered his soul mate. The woman that still haunted his dreams...

Was she also just a thing he desired because he couldn't have it? Did his hatred towards the prince of Troy merely come from the fact that he had taken something Achilles wanted from him? Like a horse or a fine sword? The thought left a sour taste in his mouth. He had spent so many years in bitterness after she rejected him. Had he spent those years grieving an illusion? Had he come here to chase something that had only existed in his imagination?

But if this was true, then why had he felt so much pain? She must have meant something, he told himself. Maybe he just couldn't stand the fact that she had said no? He wasn't used to being turned down by women. But Andromache had. And Briseis...

He closed his eyes. What was he doing really? More and more, he was beginning to feel like an idiot for having come here. He should have stayed in Laryssa instead of sailing off like some obsessed fool. He remembered his mother's words before he had left. _"If you stay in Laryssa, you'll find peace. You'll find a wonderful woman. You'll have sons and daughters and they will have children. And they will love you."_

But he had valued his personal pride and glory higher than anything else, so he had left for Troy. It had been the wrong decision. He should have waited for that woman his mother had been talking about. Maybe she could have showed him what it was like to love someone unreservedly? Or maybe she couldn't have. Maybe he was just incapable of caring deeply for anyone except himself.

Achilles was pulled out of his dark thoughts when Eudrorus came up to him, looking somewhat nervous.

"My lord," he said. "The king of Ithaca is on his way to see you."

Achilles sighed, but nodded shortly. "Very well. I'll speak to him." Eudorus nodded, seemingly relieved and turned to leave, when Achilles stopped him. "Tell the men to start loading the ship." He spotted Odysseus heading towards his tent and raised his voice to make sure that he heard what he said. "We are going home."

Eudorus looked stunned for a moment, but as always, he wouldn't protest against his commander and gave the order to the men.

Achilles had some more wine brought and settled down next to his friend. If any other king of Greece had come to see him in his present state of mind, he would probably have thrown the wine in his face, but Odysseus was one of the few men he really appreciated.

Still, he couldn't possibly understand why he kept crawling for that pig of a man, Agamemnon, and he didn't bother to hide his opinion. Odysseus simply sighed and said that to him, the world was simple. But when you were a king, very few choices were simple. Neither himself nor his country could afford to turn Agamemnon against them.

"How can I live with myself if I'll continue to serve a man I despise?" Achilles asked coldly. "How can I truly fight with my heart when I know that I am fighting for someone like him?"

Odysseus sighed again. "In your world, very few people exist except yourself. But I have not only myself to think about. A lot of people are depending on me and no matter what I do, it will also affect them."

Odysseus eyes found Briseis and Patroclus by the water and he followed them as they played and smiled to each other. "I have a wife," he suddenly said abruptly.

"I know that," Achilles answered impatiently. "What does that have to do with anything?"

"Everything I do will also affect Penelope – and our son," Odysseus said simply. "When I am fighting, I am also fighting for them. And for their sake I can put up with a lot. Even a foolish and dishonourable king," he added with a grimace.

Achilles glanced at him in disbelief and Odysseus smiled faintly. "You really cannot understand this, can you? No woman has ever managed to open that hard warrior heart of yours. You fight only for your own glory."

"You are wrong," Achilles answered flatly, looking intently at his cousin and the girl. He could sense the surprised look on Odysseus' face and turned back to him. "I didn't come here simply to fight for my own glory. I came here for a woman's sake."

Odysseus frowned in puzzlement.

"I thought that if I came here I could somehow get something back that I lost in my past," Achilles grimly continued. "But I have realized that I was wrong. The past is the past and I can't change it now. I should have seen this from the beginning."

Odysseus looked slightly astonished to hear this. "Women have a way of... complicating things," he finally said weakly and took a drink. "Who is this woman?"

Achilles smiled joylessly. "It doesn't matter now. Like I said, she belongs to the past."

"Is it really that simple?" Odysseus asked cryptically.

Achilles decided to ignore the question. "Of all the kings of Greece, I respect you the most. But in this war, you are a servant."

"Sometimes you must serve in order to lead," Odysseus answered thoughtfully.

Achilles just shook his head. "If you want to keep serving him, don't let me stop you. But I am through with this war."

Odysseus said nothing; he just nodded slightly and left. When he was gone, Patroclus walked up to Achilles. His expression was upset. He had obviously seen that the men had started to load the ship.

"We are going home?" he asked grimly.

Achilles nodded firmly. "We are leaving in the morning."

"Greeks are being slaughtered. We can't just sail away."

Achilles gave him no answer and Patroclus just seemed to get even more upset. "This is not honour!" he stated angrily. "A man of honour wouldn't turn the back on his countrymen just to see Agamemnon fall! I refuse to leave like some..."

"Don't worry," Achilles answered with coolness in his voice. "I won't make you part from that girl. She is welcome to come with us if she wants to. And if she _doesn't _want to, I am sure you can think of some way of persuading her." His tone of voice was mocking.

Patroclus stared at him with anger clearly painted across his face. "Briseis says that she doesn't want a killer," he said coldly. "She says she couldn't possibly be with someone who enjoys cutting other men to pieces."

Achilles blinked in confusion. "Well, if that's what she feels, then I really don't see why you still wish to fight? I am sure Briseis will be happy to find out that you are leaving this war."

"You don't understand!" Patroclus snapped back. "I am going to prove to her that I am not fighting for greed! I'll show her that I am fighting for my country, for my honour. Then she'll understand!"

Achilles rolled his eyes slightly. "If you long to fight so much, there will always be another war, that I promise you."

"It's _this_ war I want to fight in!" Patroclus exclaimed. He seemed to have forgotten that he wanted to be considered a grown man and started more and more to sound like the boy he really was.

Achilles glared coldly at him. "We are leaving in the morning," he said firmly and entered his tent.

----

It was a gloomy, dark and cold morning. The mist of the night had not yet scattered and it was like cold, heavy smoke in the air.

Hector grimly pounded his shield with the shaft of his spear. He was once again dressed in his armour and the helmet was placed on his head. His men were lining up behind him.

He still found it difficult to believe that he was actually doing this; that he had agreed to go through with this mad act. For once, his wife had been wrong. At the counsel the night before, his father had refused to listen to his son's advice. Instead, he had decided to put his faith in some superstitious nonsense, offered by the high priest of Apollo. Something about a curse on the Greeks, the gods favouring Troy's cause.

But as crown prince and highest commander of the Trojan army, Hector had little choice but to follow his father's wishes. That was why he standing here in the cold dawn, lining up his men to attack Grecian camp.

Hector was convinced that this was the wrong tactics. If there had been dissention among the Greeks, this would definitely unify them. Still, he could do nothing more than to carry out his duty and fight for his country. He could only hope for the best, that he and his men would be favoured by the advantage of surprise – and of course, that the myrmidons wouldn't be fighting.

As he pulled forward, he could tell that chaos had ensued in the Grecian camp. Men and animals were frantically running about as they tried to prepare for battle. The fire arrows that he had sent had caused a commotion.

The Greeks were lining up. In the front, he could spot Odysseus, the king of Ithaca; a reputable man. He was a skilful fighter, no doubt about it. But he was more of a strategist and not at all in the same class as...

Hector suddenly heard the Greeks cheering and when he looked up he saw a group of warriors, dressed in black running to take their place in the line. Their commander was a tall, powerful man with a mane of light hair that fell out from under his helmet.

"Achilles," he whispered to himself and cursed his own bad luck. So, he had made peace with Agamemnon after all. Well, it wasn't something he could do anything about. Hector raised his spear and loudly commanded his men to attack.

----

Achilles had heard the alarm from the battle, but he had found it surprisingly easy to ignore it. All he wanted now was to set sail and get back home to Laryssa.

By now, the battle seemed to be over, and it seemed to be quiet outside. Had the Trojans won or maybe the Greeks had been victorious today? He didn't care; it made no difference to him anymore.

"My lord," he suddenly heard Eudorus voice from outside.

Achilles stepped out on the sand in front of his tent. To his surprise, a group of his men was standing outside. They were all dressed in their armours and armed with spears and shields. Some of them were bleeding from open wounds, wounds you would only get when you were fighting somebody.

Achilles scowled at Eudorus. "You have violated my command."

"No, my lord," Eudorus answered, his voice shaky. "There was a mistake."

"I ordered the myrmidons to stand down," Achilles said firmly and walked ominously towards his second in command. "Still, you led them into combat."

Eudorus sank down to his knees. The look on his face was distraught. "I didn't lead them, my lord. We thought you did."

That was when a cry suddenly reached Achilles' ears. As he turned his head, he saw Briseis bent over a cart. She was crying and repeating the word: "No!" over and over again. Something was on that cart, hidden under a blanket.

A suspicion was starting to form in Achilles' head. He swallowed tightly. "Where is Patroclus?" he asked. "Patroclus! He called out when no one answered.

"We thought he was you, my lord," Eudorus said with regret in his voice.

Eudorus said something about Patroclus wearing his armour, his shield, his gloves. That he had even moved like him, but Achilles couldn't take in the words. His mind refused to accept what his ears heard. Furiously, he attacked Eudorus, striking him against his face. "Where is he!" he furiously demanded.

Bleeding from his lip, Eudorus slowly rose to his elbows. He glanced nervously towards the cart. "He is dead my lord," he said honestly. "Hector cut his throat."

Something exploded inside Achilles when Eudorus uttered the Trojan prince's name. His face was contorted with rage; as if all of the bolts that had kept him within the borders of sanity all of his life had been shattered.

He put his boot over Eudorus' neck, pressing hard. He wanted to kill him. Kill the pain and the hurt and as always, he only knew one way of doing it.

"Don't!" It was Briseis who had left the cart. She was braver than she looked. None of his men would have dared to go near him when he was in this state of mind, but she did. She grabbed his arm and tried to pull him away, despite the fact that he was at least twice as strong as she was.

In a single movement, Achilles grabbed her by the throat and lifted her from the ground. She coughed and choked in his grip. He squeezed her delicate neck tightly. The desire to kill her was almost overwhelming.

But then he let go of her and threw her carelessly into the sand. He removed his foot from Eudorus' neck. He walked away from his men, who all wisely went out of his way. He was moving without a thought, without an aim.

In his mind, he recalled what Patroclus had told him, the night before the attack on Troy's walls.

"_Soldiers obey," _he had stated firmly.

"_Don't waste your life following some fool's orders." _He had answered contemptuously.

And Patroclus had listened to his cousin's advice.

----

The Trojan soldiers had returned much sooner than anyone had expected them to. And no one seemed to be able to tell what had happened in the battle.

Andromache was on her way to see Hector, worried and filled with apprehensions. Her husband had not wanted to have any part in this. But as Priam's son, he had to do what was expected of him. Still, she realized that it must have been a hard thing for him to lead his men into a battle that he didn't wish to fight.

When Andromache reached Hector's private chamber, she could hear her father-in law speaking through the open door. "I don't understand, my son. Are you saying that you just retired with the men?"

She heard Hector's sigh. "No, father. I told you, I made an agreement with the Greek commander, king Odysseus. We both felt that it was enough for one day."

"It could have been a trick," Priam said.

"No," Hector answered firmly. "That Odysseus seemed like an honourable man. I trust him."

"But I still don't understand," Paris voice said in confusion. "It must have been something more than this."

"It was," Hector sighed and stopped for a moment, before he continued. "I cut Achilles' throat off."

Priam and Paris silenced in astonishment. Andromache could feel her cheeks being drained of all colour. Suddenly, she was unable to move and she found it difficult to breathe.

"At least I thought I did," Hector added grimly.

"What do you mean?" Priam asked in alarm.

"There was a young man who had dressed himself in Achilles' armour," Hector reluctantly explained. "It was quite amazing... He looked just like him; he was fighting like him, moving exactly like I've seen him do..." Hector stopped for a moment and it was obvious that the memory pained him. "I killed him," he said simply. "And it wasn't until his helmet fell off that I discovered that he wasn't Achilles."

Hector swallowed and continued. "Even the Greeks were shocked; they had all thought that it was really Achilles. That was when I made that deal with Odysseus." Hector shrugged slightly. "He told me that the boy was... his cousin."

The room was silent for a long time. Then Priam spoke up again. "A most unfortunate mistake, my son."

By the wall outside the chamber, Andromache couldn't agree more with her father-in-law. When she found out that it wasn't Achilles who had been slain, she had felt a momentarily, reluctant sense of relief. But when she heard who her husband had actually killed, her horror returned. This was the worst thing that could possibly have happened.

Andromache closed her eyes. As she did, she could still remember how they had been sitting together on a huge rock by the beach, talking to each other as they looked out across the water. She could still see the warm smile that lit up his handsome face when he told her about something that made him particularly pleased.

"_His name is Patroclus," he said. "His parents are dead and he has been under my protection ever since. He is more than a cousin to me, almost like a younger brother. I have been training him for many years now and I am sure he will become a great myrmidon when he is a little older."_

"_Oh, you have been teaching him too?" Andromache answered in amusement. "Like you taught me?"_

_He laughed a little "Yes, but I have to admit that he is a much more attentive student than you are. And unlike you, he doesn't get furious when I criticise him," he said teasingly. Then he became slightly more serious. "He is a fine boy and I am sure he has a bright future. It's an easy thing being the instructor when you are teaching someone who is so eager to learn."_

_Andromache smiled as she heard the pride in his voice. "I am sure he is glad to bee taught by you. Who wouldn't be?"_

_Achilles laughed, slightly embarrassed by his display of affection. "They say we are very much alike," he admitted. "Both in terms of looks and behaviour. We are talking in the same way, fighting in the same way... Some even say that we are moving just like each other..."_

Andromache swallowed harshly. Her husband had not killed Achilles, but she knew that she had more reason than ever to fear for his life now.

----


	6. Chapter 6

**Author's note: **I just want to express my deep gratitude to all of you who have reviewed. Please continue; you guys are what keeps me going!

Anyway, here is the latest instalment. We have reached the great fight scene...

**Chapter 6**

Dawn had come when Achilles left Patroclus' funeral stake. The whole night he had been standing motionless, watching as the flames incinerated his cousin's flesh and his soul was left in the hands of the gods. He watched how the fire reduced him to ashes and the flames were turned into glowing, red ember.

The night had been spent in mourning. He mourned his cousin, his friend and student. It was all such a waste. Not only Patroclus had died this day, but also so many hopes, dreams and wishes for the future. Ever since Achilles had started teaching the young man, he had instinctively known that the boy would become something great.

In his mind, he kept seeing images of Patroclus, dressed as a myrmidon. He fought like he had never seen anyone fight before; like a lion or a god. He was standing at the front of a ship, raising his arm and commanding the men to attack. Somehow, Achilles had always imagined that Patroclus would achieve everything that he had not done himself. He would be an even greater warrior and his actions would give eco into eternity, just like his own.

Now, these visions would never become true. Patroclus would never be a great warrior or the leader of the myrmidons. He was gone; his young life had been forever ended. Achilles still couldn't accept it. The boy had been like a younger brother to him and knowing that he was dead was too much to grasp. He spent the whole night with the feeling that his heart had been wrenched out of his body and that he only had a cold, dark hole in its' place.

Achilles stood before the dying smoke as the first hints of light fell across the Trojan beach. When it did, he suddenly knew what he had to do.

All of his thoughts about returning to Laryssa had vanished after Eudrorus told him what had happened. This night, his grief had temporarily shielded his hatred, but when the smoke died and he was forced to realize that his cousin was truly gone, it returned like a powerful time wave. He only had one name on his mind.

Hector.

Achilles' hatred towards the man didn't simply return; it was intensified and its strength made his previous feelings seem like a choking flame next to a raging fire. He felt nothing but hate in his soul right now and his hatred was focused on one single man: Prince Hector of Troy. The man who had slain his cousin.

If there was room for anything else in Achilles' mind except for hate, it was guilt. He knew very well that the prince wouldn't have killed Patroclus unless he had given him the opportunity to. He had spared the prince's life in that temple; he had spared him because of his own, foolish pride and desire for glory. He would have to live with that for the rest of his life.

On the other hand, Achilles wasn't so sure that he wanted to keep living. He felt like everything had died inside him the previous day. But to avenge his cousin and to redeem his own honour, he knew that there was something he needed to do, above everything else.

Silently, he climbed down from the funeral stake. He went to his tent. Eudorus sat outside, half-sleeping, but he quickly woke to life when his master approached.

"I need my armour," Achilles said shortly as he entered the tent.

----

As the sun slowly appeared by the horizon to greet the new day, two men prepared themselves for battle.

Achilles, son of Peleus was standing in his tent as he pulled on the black armour of a myrmidon. His face was hard and grim; his movements firm and determined.

In his chamber in the royal castle, prince Hector of Troy pulled on the characteristic armour of a Trojan warrior. The prince's face was pained and resolute; his movements unhurried and reluctant.

Before Hector left, he glanced at his sleeping wife and son one last time. When he closed the door behind him, Andromache woke up. She looked after him as he left. She knew, like he did, that the time had come.

Carrying his spear and shield Achilles left his tent. One of his men brought him his carriage and horses. Achilles stepped onto the carriage and took the reins. Eudorus got up next to him.

"No," Achilles said shortly and his tone of voice left no room for arguments.

For a hint of a moment, Eudorus hesitated. Then he sighed and stepped down.

"Don't go!" a voice suddenly cried. It was Briseis. Her face was ghostly pale when she ran up to the carriage. "Hector is my cousin; he is a good man! Don't fight him. Please don't fight him!" she beseeched.

Her words confirmed once and for all that she was royalty, but at the moment, Achilles couldn't care less. He paid no attention to her pleadings and drove the horses forward.

----

Andromache sat completely still in the chair as the servant girl arranged her hair. She pulled the comb through the long auburn curls until it was pulled back behind her mistress' ears and hung loosely against her back.

Andromache's face was flat and revealed nothing, but her entire body was tense and her mind was in turmoil. All of her senses were on alert. She was waiting for something that she knew was bound to happen.

"Do you need anything else, my lady?" the girl asked when she was finished.

Andromache was pulled out of her thoughts and managed to give the young woman a gentle smile. "No, thank you," she said, and added: "You may leave."

The girl bowed and left the chamber. Andromache pulled a deep breath and got up from the chair. When she turned, her eyes fell upon her son who was just receiving his morning meal from his nurse.

She smiled slowly to herself as she saw him, and still she felt such a terrible sadness in her heart that she thought she would start crying. But she bit her lip and turned away again. Slowly, she walked to the other side of the room to look into the mirror on the wall.

She saw the reflection of a pale and wan creature with large, worried eyes. Her heart was filled with fear. She still had to close her eyes when the thought about the previous night.

Unexpectedly, Hector had taken her for a walk through the palace. He had taken her down to the cellar and showed her a secret passageway. The tunnel led to Mount Ida and it was impossible to get lost in it. It was a way of getting out of the palace and out of the city without being discovered.

Immediately, Andromache had realized why he told her this, but she still didn't want to admit it. Hector had reasoned with her, gently and sensibly. He had to show her this to make sure that she was ready. If he died...

"_No!" _she had whispered, her voice choked.

"_If the Greeks get inside the walls, it's over. They will kill all the men, they will throw the babies from the city walls and the women will be taken as their slaves. That would be worse for you than dying."_

Andromache shuddered. Somewhere deep inside, she felt panic, fear and horror, but she forced it back. She knew Hector was right. She had to be strong; she had to be brave.

She pulled a deep breath and tried to keep her hands from shaking when she started to fasten her bejewelled earrings in her earlobes.

That was when a sound suddenly reached her ears. It came from somewhere outside the walls but it was still loud enough to be heard all over the city. A name was called out from another human being. It was a call filled with hate and desire for revenge.

"_HECTOR!"_

Andromache dropped the earring and it fell to the floor. For a moment, her heart stopped beating and her entire body trembled. She immediately recognized the voice. A thousand feelings struggled for control inside her.

"My lady?" It was Astyanax's nursemaid. She had hard the call and was worried about her mistress. Naturally, the princess was worried about her husband, the woman thought and put her hand on Andromache's cold shoulder.

Andromache flinched violently by the touch and turned towards the nurse like she had been an adversary. Her eyes looked almost black and her breathing was fierce and irregular.

The call was heard again, this time even louder. _"HECTOR!"_

Somehow, Andromache managed to pull herself together. She quickly picked up the earring and put it back in place. Then she held her arms out to the wet-nurse. "I have to go," she quickly explained.

The woman still looked quite concerned, but she handed Astyanax over to his mother without objections.

----

Andromache ascended the stairs towards the tower above the city gate, carrying her son in her arms, when she met her husband. She had not seen him since he had wordlessly left her that morning.

He wore his armour, although he had not yet put the helmet over his head and Astyanax looked strangely at the terrifying stranger that was his father. Hector's face was grim and cheerless and his eyes showed that he had not gotten much sleep. Once again, he was going out to take part in something he didn't truly wish to.

He had just said goodbye to his father, the faithful general Glaucus and his brother Paris. He had tried his best to show them how much they meant to him and how deeply he respected them.

But he had the most difficult part left; saying goodbye to his wife and son. He stood in front of his wife and saw the angst in her eyes. He wanted to tell her that nothing of what might have happened in her past mattered anymore, but he knew that she wouldn't be able to take his words to heart.

Instead, he bent over and whispered in her ear: "Do you remember what I told you?"

But she didn't seem to listen. "You don't have to go. You don't!" she whispered fiercely.

Hector felt a twinge of frustration. "Do you remember what I said?" he asked again, this time more firmly.

It was plain that she didn't want to hear his words, but she managed to keep herself under control and nodded slowly. Then she held Astyanax up to let him say goodbye to the boy. Astyanax still stared in fascination at the stranger with his large, blue eyes. With immense tenderness, Hector kissed the baby's rosy cheek.

Then Hector embraced his wife and she buried her face by his neck. She felt like her soul was being jerked away from her. For a moment she felt like it was impossible; she just wouldn't let him go. She would keep him there, no matter what he said.

The call came again. _"HECTOR!" _Andromache pressed herself tightly against her husband, wishing that she could somehow shut the world out.

But then Astyanax started sobbing. He had been squeezed between his parents as they embraced and cried out with pain and fear. Andromache and Hector quickly split. They looked at each other one last time before Hector descended the stairs.

Andromache did her best to comfort her son and to keep her own feelings in check. She couldn't display herself looking like a complete wreck in front of her father-in-law. She just _had _to be strong.

When Andromache had reached the tower, everyone was starting to move forward, towards the rail, where they could see what was going on downside the gate. There were archers standing on their positions along the walls. They could shoot any intruder at any time, but Andromache knew that they wouldn't. To her husband, this was a matter of honour.

Reluctantly, she handed Astyanax over to his nursemaid again and told the woman to take the boy inside. She didn't want him to see this.

When she was free, Andromache slowly went to the rail and stood next to Helen and Paris.

She looked out over the dusty ground downside the gate, just like she had done a few days ago. But this time, there were not thousands and thousands of armed men down there. Only two.

She could see her husband; now with his helmet, shield and spear. He walked with slow, cautious steps towards his adversary, the Greek enemy who had come to claim his revenge.

Slowly, Andromache's eyes turned towards him. She watched him; his tall and powerful form and his defiant carriage, the muscular arms that held his spear and shield; the black armour that fit him like it had been castled to his body and the long, fair hair that fell from under his helmet. Despite the fact that his face was hidden, he was eerily familiar in every way.

Andromache felt a dread she had never experienced before. She had known that this battle would come and suddenly she realized what she had known in her heart ever since the war started; that she would have a greater reason to fear this than anyone else who was watching.

Because no matter who won this fight, she would lose a man she loved.

----

As the gates closed behind the prince and he headed forward, Achilles stood unmoving and waited. He was positioned and ready with his shield and his spear at hand.

Achilles glanced up towards the tower. He casually asked himself whether or not she was there? He could tell that there were a lot of people standing by the rail, but he couldn't make out any faces. But she probably was. Good. He _wanted _her to be there. His hatred was so great that it even included her and everyone else inside the Trojan walls.

His eyes were small and narrow as he watched prince Hector approaching. He had been forced to wait for him for a long time. He didn't know how many times he had called out the prince's name and waited, trying to contain his frustration. More than anything, he had wanted the prince before him. In his mind, he felt only the desire for revenge. He felt it in his tightly closed fists, his swelling muscles and his fierce respiration. Every sense in his body was ready for the battle.

He didn't even consider the opportunity that he might loose. He knew that today, he would finish this forever. He would finish what had started such a long time ago.

Hector stopped a few feet away from him. His eyes were hard and grim. "I have seen this moment in my dreams," he said and made a brief stop to appraise his adversary a little bit closer. "I'll make a pact with you," he continued. "With the gods as our witnesses; let us pledge that the winner will allow the loser all the proper funeral rituals."

Achilles didn't move a muscle and his face was completely flat. "There are no pacts between lions and men," he answered harshly. Then he pulled off his helmet, revealing his blonde hair and his god-like features. "Now you'll know who you are fighting," he spat and tossed the helmet aside.

Hector did as his enemy; he pulled off his helmet. His face was contemptuous. "I thought it was you I was fighting yesterday and I wish it had been you," he said resolutely. "But I gave the dead boy the honour he deserved."

"You gave him the honour of his sword!" Achilles snarled back with cold fury. His eyes were so filled with hate that a man of less strength than prince Hector could have been destroyed by it. "You won't have eyes tonight," he continued in a growling tone of voice. "You won't have ears or a tongue. You'll wander the underworld blind, deaf and dumb and all of the dead will know; this is Hector, the fool who thought he had killed Achilles."

Hector's jaw was tightly clenched, but he showed no fear. A small, mocking smile crossed Achilles' lips. "Your wife is up there, isn't she?" he said and indicated the tower above the gate. "I told you that she would need some comfort, didn't I? Well, let me tell you that when I have finished with you, not even your charming _brother_ will be able to comfort her."

Hector's eyes narrowed, but before he could answer, Achilles attacked.

----

What followed was a demonstration of such skill that the two men that were engaged in the battle hardly seemed human. Two such masterly warriors could not be men of flesh and blood. They had to be gods who had been placed in the human world.

The blonde and the dark man; the prince and the soldier. They were both men who had spent their entire life in practise. Every day, they had trained with their weapons; their spears, swords, knives and shields. They had devoted countless hours to improve their skill and strength. Today, it seemed like they had taken all of these lessons in preparation for this day. This was the moment when they would pass the final test.

They moved with such swiftness that the people who were watching from the walls found it difficult to follow them with their eyes. They circled around each other, measured each other's strength and tried to discover weaknesses.

Every swing from their spears would be considered a mortal blow to any other man. Sparks flied whenever a spear touched a shield with immense power.

None of them could afford to make even the slightest mistake. A single error could cost them dear; they both knew that. Their adversary would take advantage of it, before they had any chance of recovering. To avoid mistakes, they had to use all their effort and concentration. The man whose powers drained first would lose.

Achilles managed to break off the prince's sword and he was forced to protect himself against Achilles' blows with the shield. But the prince quickly pulled his sword and managed to disarm Achilles who had no other choice but to pull out his own blade.

Andromache watched them from the tower. Her face was completely without expression but her hands held on to the rail tightly with white knuckles.

The sword clang loudly as they met and the deadly game continued. Suddenly it seemed like Achilles had obtained a small advantage over the prince. His thrusts with the sword seemed more powerful and his movements were far more determined.

Hector swung against the Greek and managed to give him a gash across his cheek. Achilles staggered backward towards the gate. But when Hector attacked again, he was ready. He drove the prince backwards.

Achilles tried to twist the sword out of the prince's hand, but Hector was too strong. With the speed of lightning, he moved to attack the prince's other side instead, but Hector managed to parry his assault with the shield.

Achilles lithely kicked out and hit the prince, who stumbled at a stone and crashed to the ground.

Priam and general Glaucus paled. Andromache's legs folded beneath her and if Helen hadn't been there to catch her, she would have fallen. Helen tried to lead her inside; she wanted to take her away from the grotesque scene, but Andromache just shook her head no.

"Get up, prince of Troy," Achilles said coldly as he picked up his broken spear and circulated around his fallen adversary. "I won't let a stone take my glory."

Hector reached out for his sword and spear and found them. He moved to his legs, but he was unsteady after his fall and Achilles managed to slash his thigh. The prince groaned with pain, but refused to give up.

The two men were panting now; their bodies were getting weary from the enormous physical effort. Achilles pushed Hector away and they walked around each other for a moment, catching their breaths, before they continued.

Hector attacked, but when he did, he made his first real mistake. He moved far too close to Achilles and the Greek managed to snatch the spear from him. In the next moment, Achilles demonstrated his enormous skill and before Hector had managed to retire; his spear was buried in the prince's shoulder.

A collective gasp could be heard from the walls.

Hector sank down to his knees, with the spear protruding from his shoulder. He panted and struggled to breathe. When he lifted his dazed gaze, he was met by Achilles' hard, cold eyes and his ready sword.

Achilles felt a wave of satisfaction throughout his whole body. Finally, the moment had come, the moment he had waited for, for so long. He had let the golden opportunity slip out of his hands in the temple, but once again he had proved that he was the strongest warrior ever born. No one, not even prince Hector of Troy was superior to him.

This man had taken everything from him: the woman he desired and his friend and cousin. He had put him through so much pain and hurt, but now he would have his revenge. The prince would never take anything from him again.

Achilles pulled his sword back and prepared to pierce through the prince's exposed throat with his expert preciseness. He would finish the prince's life, cut his neck off and drag his corpse around the walls of Troy.

But suddenly, something stopped him.

In the tower, the gathered people were standing like they were frozen as they witnessed the Greek warrior preparing to slay their prince. But suddenly, there was a movement. Andromache suddenly jerked herself out of Helen's grip. Suddenly she was running towards the rail.

Suddenly, the iron-hard self control that had held her together ever since the war started vanished from her body. She ran towards the rail and she felt her mouth open and her lips forming the word: "NO!"

When Achilles glanced up at the tower, he suddenly spotted her. He instinctively knew that it was her; the tall, slight form and the dark hair. His ears heard her pleading and he thought he could make out her eyes and their anguish.

All of a sudden, he just couldn't bring himself to give the prince the deadly blow. His mind told him to do it, clearly and sternly: _"Go on, you fool, what are you waiting for? Just do it and get it over with!" _

He had wanted her to watch. He had wanted her to witness as he cut her precious prince to pieces. He had wanted to look into her eyes and let her know who was the best man. It would have been her punishment; her punishment for having rejected him.

But as he watched her standing there, he just couldn't. He could see her head shaking and he lips forming the word _"Please." _These gestures and words were aimed directly at him. She was speaking to him, just as well as if they had been alone in a closed room.

With great self persuasion, Achilles lowered his sword. The prince was still panting and he was bleeding profusely from his wound. With an angry grimace, Achilles smacked him across the face with the shaft of his sword. The prince was immediately knocked unconscious.

With grim and determined movements, Achilles went to his carriage, where he fetched the rope he had brought from the camp. He tied one end to the wagon and the other to the prince's feet.

"What is he doing?" Priam whispered. He still couldn't really believe that the Greek warrior hadn't killed his son.

"He is taking Hector with him," Paris mumbled in disbelief. "But why?"

Andromache was still standing by the rail and watched as Achilles drove away with her husband tied to his carriage. She could have answered Paris' question, but she was still unable to talk. Still she was in a complete state of shock after what had happened. Her husband was alive. But for how long?

----

Later that day, Priam, Paris and General Glaucus were discussing strategies for how they were going to get Hector back.

"I still can't understand why he didn't just kill the prince," the General mumbled thoughtfully. "Why would he just take him with him?"

"Do you think it's a ransom he wants?" Paris asked.

Priam sighed. "If that's what he wants, then I'll pay it, no matter how much he will ask for."

"Maybe he just wants to show off his trophy to Agamemnon," Glaucus said grimly. "Maybe he has just kept Hector alive so that he can kill him later and in a more cruel way."

"My gods, why are you doing this to me?" Priam groaned. Then he pulled himself together. "We must send messages to the Greek camp. If we can negotiate with Achilles..."

"I don't really believe that he would listen to a messenger, father," Paris said in frustration. "I think he is more likely to run them through."

"Well, what else can we do?" Priam asked. "We don't have much choice at the moment..."

"What is this, my lord?" the general suddenly interrupted. His eyes were aimed at something behind the king and his son.

Priam and Paris turned to see what Glaucus was staring at. They were very surprised to see Andromache, dressed in a cloak that covered her from top to toe, enter the hall. She carried a leather bag in her hands and her face was calm and determined.

"Andromache?" Priam asked.

Andromache approached the three men and stood before them. "I need a carriage," she said, her voice firm. "And I need you to tell me the safest way to the Grecian camp."

"Why on earth?" Priam asked in absolute bewilderment.

Andromache tossed her head slightly. "Because I am going to get my husband back."

The men were silent for a moment, slightly shocked before Paris spoke up. "Andromache, dearest, are you out of your mind? You can't go there, it's dangerous!"

"Well, I don't have much choice, do I?" she asked him harshly.

"It's absolutely out of the question," Priam said with authority. "I won't let you risk your life out there."

"I must," Andromache answered shortly.

Priam sighed. "You must wait, Andromache," he said. "We'll send messengers and find out what is going on before we..."

"There is no time for that!" Andromache spat in frustration, forgetting that this wasn't exactly a suitable way of addressing her father-in-law, the king of Troy. "Hector will die if no one tends to his wounds soon. I will not let that happen. I am going there!"

The men became quiet again, silenced by her outburst. "And what makes you think that Achilles will listen to you?"

Andromache's face hardened. "I'll _make _him listen."

----


	7. Chapter 7

**Chapter 7**

The whole camp had been staring at Achilles when he returned from the fight. Without a word to anyone, he had driven straight to his tent, dragging the unconscious prince behind his carriage. Once he had stopped, he had loosened the rope from the wagon and pulled the prince behind the shadow of his tent. There, he had pitched him.

Achilles glared harshly at the prince of Troy, before he turned to enter his tent. Then, he had heard a choked cry. It was Briseis. She had seen what condition her cousin was in and now she was hysterical. She tried to run to his side, but Achilles had roughly stopped her and pushed her to his men.

"Let go of me!" she screamed in fury and struggled violently. "Let me go to him! He is my cousin!"

"Keep her away," he had said, his voice cold. "Don't let _anyone _close to him."

"No, my lord," Eudorus had said quickly, unwilling to bring his master's wrath over his head again.

Then, Achilles had barked that he expected to be left alone and entered his tent. Without even pulling off his sweaty armour, he had sat down with his cheek resting on his fists and tried to bring his thoughts into some sort of order.

He sat for hours, trying to justify his actions as darkness fell over the camp. Once again, he had spared the prince of Troy. Why? The man had been in front of him, wounded and at his mercy. But still he had not killed him!

Just thinking about the fact that he had let his cousin's killer get away from his rightful punishment was sickening. The right thing to do would be to step out of the tent and cut Hector to pieces. But once again, something restrained him. What was that? Was he losing his mind?

Achilles hid his face in his hands. When he did, he could suddenly see her eyes before him. Her dark eyes filled with angst that begged him, pleaded with him not to let the sword fall down on Hector's throat.

He silently cursed himself. Once again, he had let his feelings get in his way. Once again, he had proved that he was a fool.

He didn't know how long he had been sitting there, brooding and waiting, when he heard a sound. When he looked up, she suddenly appeared before his eyes. He blinked a few times to rid himself of the ever-present illusion, but she didn't vanish. And when she slowly raised her hands and pulled back the hood that covered her hair, he realized that she was real.

Slowly, he rose to his feet and positioned himself in front of her, still in absolute amazement. For a moment, he just couldn't take his eyes off her. Seeing her at the top of the tower was one thing, but having her just a couple of feet away; in the shape of a living, breathing creature was enough to make him dizzy.

She had not changed a lot in terms of appearance. Most of her form was hidden under her long cloak, but he could tell that her body was just as slender and lithe as it had been the last time he saw her and she still carried herself with more elegance than any other woman he had met. Her hair, pulled back into a tight braid along her back, was still full and shining; her skin was pale and smooth and her eyes still had their rare colour and form.

Andromache was a rather beautiful woman, but beauty wasn't the reason why he had been drawn to her from the first moment of their acquaintance. It was something about her that he couldn't really identify that had attracted him. Perhaps it was something inside her that made her special, which differentiated her from other women; her strong spirit and determination, her intelligence and accomplishment, her heart and her soul. To him, she was intoxicating, captivating, fascinating...

He surveyed her wordlessly. Then he crossed his arms over his chest and asked flatly: "How did you get in here?"

She crossed her own arms like she was imitating him and answered coldly: "I should think that my father-in-law knows his own country better than you do."

Achilles didn't answer. He kept watching her closely. Her face was resolute, but absolutely calm and she didn't look the least bit scared, despite having literally walked into the lion's den. "Well," he said, somewhat mockingly. "I guess I shouldn't be surprised."

"Indeed you should not," she agreed sharply. "After all, things have worked exactly as you planned them, haven't they?"

Achilles' eyes narrowed, but it was pointless to object, since he realized that she was right. He _had _planned this. His decision not to kill the prince had not been haphazard; he had known exactly what he was doing.

"Where is he?" she asked him coldly.

He raised his eyebrows. "Who?"

"You know who I mean," she snapped. "Where is my husband?"

"Why should I know anything about your husband's whereabouts?" he asked her sarcastically and turned away from her to get a goblet of wine, but she grabbed his arm and spun him back to her with surprising strength.

"Don't play games with me; it's not the right time," she said in a low, chilly voice. "I want to know where Hector is and you _will _tell me."

Achilles tried not to show how much her touch had increased the pressure of his blood. He looked at her with superiority. "Suppose I would tell you that he is already dead?"

She became a little paler, but when she spoke again, her voice was firm. "It doesn't matter; dead or alive, he belongs to me and I want him back!"

"Yes, I guess you would," Achilles answered and looked straight into her eyes.

She slowly released him and moved back a little from him. He heard her sigh deeply. "So that's still the problem, isn't it?"

"What do you mean?" he asked flatly.

"You know what I mean," she said. She was silent for some time before she softly added: "Achilles... This is not about him."

"What is not about him?" he asked her provocatively.

She sighed and closed her eyes. "Stop pretending like you don't understand. Hector had nothing to do with what happened between the two of us."

Her calmness annoyed him more and more and he wasn't able to hide it anymore. "Oh, he didn't?" he snarled. "Well, except for the fact that he is your husband. He is the one who took you away, isn't he?"

She sighed again. "He didn't take anything," she said empathically. "It was _my_ choice, _my_ decision." She looked at him with slight incredulity. "Is it still impossible for your vanity to accept this? Hector has done nothing wrong and you have no reason to take revenge on him for what happened between you and me!"

A smirk crossed Achilles' lips. "Maybe I just like to see you suffer."

"So let me suffer then!" Andromache almost shouted. "Kill me, spear me, cut me to pieces, but leave him alone!"

Achilles face remained cruel. "I would do that, but you forget that there is something more to this than your infamous little affair with me."

Andromache silenced and pinched her lips tightly together.

"Your sweet prince killed my cousin," Achilles started, pronouncing the word _prince _as if it had been an insult. "He was just a young boy with his whole life ahead of him. And your husband ended his life with one single thrust from his sword." As he spoke, his eyes began to glow with a silent wrath. "Even if I could overlook the fact that Hector married you; I can never forget what he did to Patroclus."

Andromache snorted slightly and applauded him contemptuously. "That was the most genuine hypocrisy I have heard in my life," she coldly declared and moved close to him again. Standing in front of him, she looked directly into his blue eyes. She was more than a head shorter than he was, but her dignity made her seem much taller than she was.

"How many cousins have you not put to the sword over the years, mighty Achilles?" she asked him with ice in her voice. "How many men have you not taken away from the women of Troy? How many mothers out there have been left without their sons; how many sisters without brothers; how many daughters without fathers?" She pulled a deep breath before she continued: "How many wives without husbands?"

Achilles couldn't face the accusation in her eyes and he slowly turned his back on her. But her voice kept talking; she kept forcing those words into his ears that he didn't wish to hear.

"Is that what you want me to be?" she asked him quietly. "Just one of those countless, faceless widows left to cope with the death of their husbands? And my son? Do you want to leave him without a father?"

Achilles didn't move for a long time. He stood motionless and silent, staring at the wall. Finally, he slowly turned back to her again. "You have a son?" he asked her in a voice that was drained of all emotions.

She nodded shortly. "Yes."

For a moment, she thought she could make out a glimpse of pain in his eyes, but it vanished quickly and his face was smooth again. "One single child in seven years?" he asked her drawly. He shook his head, as if in pity. "Old Priam must think you a truly poor investment."

There was a glimmer in Andromache's eyes, and for a moment, she ceased to breathe. She had not foreseen this deliberate insult; she had forgotten how extremely provoking he could be. With all of her heart, she longed to do what he so clearly begged her to. She wanted to move close to him with two long strides and slap his arrogant face for all she was worth. But she refused to show weakness. He would not have that pleasure from her.

Instead, she crossed her arms across her chest and her face remained flat.

Achilles nodded slowly to himself. Then he sighed and pulled his hand through his tousled, blonde hair. "Let's take things from the start," he said. "You have come here because I took your husband as my prisoner. And you want him back?"

Andromache nodded resolutely.

"And it doesn't matter to you that he may never recover?"

"No."

Achilles was silent for some time again. Then he nodded. "All right," he said, without taking his eyes off her. "I will give him back to you." Then his eyes narrowed slightly. "But not unless I get something in return."

Andromache was extremely relieved. "Priam assured me that he will pay whatever you want," she said quickly. "Or if you want him to make an arrangement with Agamemnon..."

But Achilles just shook his head. "I don't care about gold and I really don't give a damn about Agamemnon's war. That's not what I want."

There was a peculiar emphasis on his words. Somewhere deep inside Andromache's soul, a small suspicion was starting to form, but she refused to acknowledge it. "Well, what do you want then?" she asked him, somewhat puzzled.

Achilles laughed: a harsh, husky laughter. "Don't try to play me for a fool, princess Andromache," he drawled. Slowly, his eyes roamed across her body. "You _know _what I want."

Andromache's already pale complexion was drained of all colour. She looked at him in astonishment as she knew in her heart what her mind was eagerly denying.

"I want you."

His words sent a shiver down her spine. All of a sudden, she couldn't bear to face him anymore. Her head fell forward slowly and she swallowed tightly. "Me," she repeated meekly and it wasn't really a question.

"Well, that's a fair deal, isn't it? One life for another?"

Andromache slowly raised her head again and was met by his sparkling eyes. He was in control now and she could tell that he enjoyed it immensely.

"So that's what you want?" she whispered weakly. "You want me to stay – with you - for good?" Somewhere inside her mind, she saw the image of Astyanax, and quickly repressed it.

But Achilles shook his head. "Not exactly," he said as he moved even closer to her, so that their faces were just inches away from each other. "I ask only that you stay the night. One night, here with me." His eyes narrowed and his tone of voice became mocking. "And when morning comes, you can stay or leave; whatever you please."

Andromache stood absolutely still and looked into his beautiful, blue eyes.

"One night, Andromache," Achilles continued. Then his tone hardened. "And then, to me, you will be like all the others. Nothing more." His eyes were just slits when he finally added: "But I will assure myself that _you_ will never ever be able to forget about me."

Andromache closed her eyes for a moment. Then she met his eyes again. "Do you really hate me that much?" she asked him quietly.

"Who has said anything about hate?" Achilles asked her nonchalantly. "This is about getting even."

Andromache pulled a deep breath and nodded shortly. "All right, I agree to it."

"Agree to it?" he asked her suspiciously.

"You have my word," she said, her voice unsteady. "But you must allow me to send Hector back to the palace first. His wounds must be taken care of."

"Of course. We wouldn't want anyone to disturb us, would we?" Achilles asked her sarcastically as he guided her towards the tent flap. "This way."

----

The stars shone down upon them from the velvet sky when Achilles led Andromache behind his tent. He pointed to the ground and at first, Andromache didn't understand anything. The darkness made it difficult to see and she could only make out something shapeless on the sand.

Then she realized that it was her husband.

Andromache pulled in a sharp breath. Her legs shivered as she sank down on her knees next to him. He was alive, she realized when she sensed a faint pulse on his neck, but he was in a very bad condition. The spear was still shooting out from his shoulder and blood had coloured his Trojan armour in red. Andromache realized that he had been left there to die and she had to restrain the fierce anger that rose inside her.

As she carefully started to examine his wound, Hector's eyelids began to flutter and suddenly, he managed to open his eyes. He stared at her, like he couldn't believe that she was really there.

"Andromache...?" he asked weakly. It was clear that he could barely stay conscious. The pain and his loss of blood had taken all of his strength away.

"Yes," Andromache answered gently and caressed his cheek. "It's me."

"But... but how...?" he asked her throatily. "What are you doing here?"

"I am going to take care of your wounds," Andromache explained.

"But that man... He..."

"Don't worry about anything," Andromache quickly interrupted him. "I am here now and everything will be all right."

Hector closed his eyes tightly. "It hurts, Andromache," he gasped and tried to control himself, despite the inhuman pain.

"I know," Andromache said soothingly. "I just need to look at it a little bit more..."

"You shouldn't be here," he said with great effort. "I lost that fight. I don't deserve to be..."

Andromache stared at him. "Stop that nonsense," she said sharply. "Besides, you shouldn't be talking at all; it will only drain your powers even more."

She took a small bottle from the leather bag she had brought to the camp and held it up to his lips. "Drink this," she ordered him. "It will ease the pain."

Hector was so weak that he couldn't hold the bottle and Andromache was forced to pour the liquid down his throat. Hector coughed a couple of time, but it seemed like he had managed to swallow it.

Andromache continued to examine his wounds. Behind her back, she heard Achilles' voice ordering some of his myrmidons to escort the Trojan prince back to his palace. Andromache was relieved that he was true to his word; she had been afraid that he would change his mind. And it was obvious that Hector needed to get back to the palace. Andromache had some knowledge about healing, but not nearly enough and Hector needed to see an experienced physician.

However, Andromache realized that he couldn't go back to the city in his present state. The blood loss would kill him on the way. She would have to pull the spear out so that she could dress his deep wound.

Quickly, she turned around towards the myrmidons who where gathered outside the tent with their master. "You there," she said with authority and waved to a couple of the men. "Come over here!"

It was a difficult thing not to obey a command from the princess of Troy. The men glanced unsurely at their master. He nodded shortly and they hurried to carry out her orders. When they approached her, Andromache casually realized that she recognized one of them. It was Eudorus, Achilles' second in command who had been among the warriors who had come to Thebe all of those years ago.

"My lady, what do you want us to do?" Eudorus asked her respectfully.

"I must pull the spear out of his shoulder," Andromache explained and indicated the protruding weapon. "I need you to hold him while I do it." She turned back to Hector and slowly squeezed his hand. "Will you be all right?" she asked him softly, well aware that the painkilling liquid she had given him wouldn't be a particularly great relief.

Hector nodded slowly, but she could tell that he was shivering slightly.

"Very well," she said and gestured to the myrmidons to take their positions. The two men carefully grabbed Hector's arms and legs. Slowly, Andromache closed her hand around the spear. "Are you ready?" she asked him, somewhat nervous. Hector nodded slowly.

Andromache pulled a deep breath and with one single, hard tug, she managed to pull the spear out of her husband's shoulder. Hector didn't have to suffer very long. Immediately, the pain was too much for him. He groaned loudly and fell out of consciousness.

Andromache breathed fiercely. She had used more strength than she knew she possessed to pull out the weapon. The thought of Hector's pain almost brought tears to her eyes, but she forced them away. Resolutely, she handed the broken spear to a myrmidon. "Here, get the accursed thing out of my sight" she muttered.

Then she turned back to her now lifeless husband. She pulled the remains of his already torn armour off from his body, which made her able to get a closer look at his injury. The blood was still streaming out of his wound. Quickly, Andromache pulled off her shawl and pressed it against the wound to stop the blood fled. The shawl was quite long and she managed to wrap it tightly around Hector's shoulder. It would do until he got back to the palace. She just needed something to secure it with to make sure that it stayed in place...

She quickly looked around and found what she was looking for. Unfortunately, it happened to be the bandana that Eudorus had tied around his head to keep his hair out of the way. The experienced warrior looked somewhat shocked when Andromache unceremoniously pulled it off and used it for bandage.

She tied the bandana over the shawl and inspected her work critically. She could only hope that Hector would make it back to the palace on those bad and bumpy roads. If he was lucky, he would stay unconscious for most of the way.

On Achilles' orders, the myrmidons brought a cart and two horses. With mutual powers, they lifted the prince onto it. "Careful," Andromache said nervously. She looked at her husband's face with worry. He was ghostly pale. Andromache gave Eudorus another small bottle from her bag.

"If he should wake up along the way, give him some of this. It will ease his pain."

"I will, my lady," Eudorus assured her.

Andromache thought that she could make out a glimpse of sympathy in the man's eyes. He obviously knew some things about her and his master. But Andromache didn't want his pity. She realized that she had to say goodbye to her husband. Slowly, she bent over and stroked his cheek tenderly, not caring who was watching.

"Andromache!"

She flinched and raised her head when she heard her name being called out. A female form came running from the beach. Her brown hair hung in loose curls around her small form as she ran. She was only a few feet away when Andromache was able to recognize her.

"Briseis!" she gasped. For a moment, she forgot about everything else and embraced the younger woman tightly. Briseis held on closely to her, laughing and crying at the same time.

"We thought you were dead..." Andromache mumbled, still dazed. She pulled back to look into the girl's eyes. "In the temple..."

"Well, at least I wasn't killed," Briseis answered meekly and shrugged.

Andromache's eyes rounded in horror when she discovered the cuts and bruises on the girl's face and neck. "What have they done to you?" she whispered in shock. "Did they...?"

"No," the girl assured her immediately. "Don't worry about me."

"Don't worry?" Andromache repeated in disbelief. In fury, she glared at Achilles, who had the good taste to look somewhat embarrassed.

"I am fine," Briseis said quickly to avoid any arguments. "But Hector..." She spotted him on the cart and silenced. Her eyes were filled with tears.

"It's all right now," Andromache said calmingly. "I have taken care of him. I think he will recover."

"I wanted to go to him when he was brought here," Briseis answered with a voice filled of tears. "But they wouldn't let me. They wouldn't let me see him..."

"You don't have to feel guilty," Andromache assured her again. "He will be sent back to the palace now and everything will be well."

"I am so glad you are here," Briseis whispered and hugged her again. "I didn't know what to do..."

Andromache held the girl for a while. Then she gently made herself free. "Briseis," she said gently. "There is something I must ask from you."

Briseis' eyes automatically found Achilles' who nodded his approval. "You are free," he told her mildly.

"I want you to go back with Hector to the palace," Andromache continued. "Take him back to his father and make sure that he has the proper care that he needs."

Briseis nodded, somewhat puzzled. "I understand. But what about..."

"It is extremely important that you leave immediately," Andromache said firmly. "The journey will be difficult for Hector, but he must get to the healers as soon as possible. That is why you must hurry."

Briseis stared at her cousin's wife. Her face reflected fear and confusion. "But... but what about you?" she finally asked.

Andromache pulled a deep breath. "I am staying here," she answered.

Briseis blinked, unable to understand. "Here?" she repeated dumbfounded. "What do you mean?"

"I mean, I must remain here," Andromache explained gently. "You will have to take Hector home for me."

Briseis face paled and she glared with hate at Achilles who was standing with his myrmidons, who were all trying to pretend like they weren't listening to the conversation between the two women. "You can't do that," she stated slowly.

"I must," Andromache answered simply, hoping that her voice seemed calmer than she felt.

Briseis just shook her head. "But why?" she whispered. "How could he..."

"Briseis," Andromache interrupted her softly. "It's time for you to leave now,"

Briseis closed her eyes for a moment. Then she slowly took Andromache's hand. "May the gods be with you," she whispered.

"And you," Andromache said, smiling bleakly. "And please... Don't let Hector find out."

Briseis let go of her hand and pulled a deep breath. Then she nodded and got into the cart, taking her place by Hector's side. Eudorus ordered the men to drive off. The cart caused a great cloud of dust as it began its journey back to Troy. Andromache kept staring at it for a long time, as it slowly disappeared out of sight.

Finally, she heard steps behind her. She knew who it was even before she had turned around and looked into his magnificent eyes. Achilles looked flatly at her with a cool little smile on his lips.

"Go to my tent," he ordered her in a deep, melodic voice. "And wait for me there."

Then he turned on his heel and left her. Andromache glanced at the myrmidons who were gathered a few feet away. She saw a mix of pity and confusion in the men's faces.

Slowly, Andromache turned away from them and headed for the tent that belonged to their commander. She did not look back.

----


	8. Chapter 8

**Chapter 8**

Achilles was walking along the beach when the king of Ithaca suddenly appeared. Odysseus looked anxious and troubled when he greeted his friend. "I have had some less than pleasing news," he began ominously.

"Really, what's that?" Achilles asked in a cool tone of voice.

"Well, they are saying that you not only neglected to kill the prince of Troy, but also that you let him get away, back to his father's castle."

"Rumours travel fast, I hear," Achilles snorted. "What else have you heard?"

"They say that the slave girl under your protection in fact happens to be king Priam's beloved niece," Odysseus told him seriously. "And that you failed to inform anyone else about this and sent her back to the city with Hector. Are these things true?"

Achilles nodded, unmoved. "Of course they are."

Odysseus shook his head with a look of astonishment painted across his bearded face. "I don't understand this. I thought you came with us to Troy to win glory. And when you have your chance, you simply turn your back on it, like some coward."

"This war has nothing to do with glory," Achilles answered coldly. "And nor has it ever had."

Odysseus looked at him in irritation. "Will you at least tell me why you let the prince go?"

"Certainly," Achilles answered mockingly. "It was because I had the chance to make a very profitable bargain."

"Bargain?" Odysseus repeated, dumbfounded. "What kind of bargain?"

A nonchalant look was spread across Achilles' face. "Well, you see, the prince's charming wife paid me a little visit and she offered me something much better in return."

Odysseus stared at Achilles like he was a madman. "Hector's wife?" he said in disbelief. "Princess Andromache? She was _here_?"

"Wrong," Achilles answered flatly. "She _is _here." Then his face was formed into a cruel smirk. "As a matter of fact, I was just on my way to receive her payment for her husband's life."

The king of Ithaca was a sensitive man and his sharp eyes immediately discovered the truth as he watched Achilles' face. "So she is that woman," he stated quietly, more to himself than to his friend. Then he sighed wearily. "Listen, I don't know what is going on between you and her, but..."

"No, that's right," Achilles interrupted him brusquely. "You don't."

"You personal feud with Agamemnon is one thing," Odysseus continued firmly. "But taking advantage of an innocent woman of noble birth..."

"Innocent?" Achilles spat. "Trust me; this woman is anything but innocent. She is like a boil that has been tormenting me for eight years. But now, I intend to cut it off for good."

"Don't be a fool," Odysseus said in annoyance. "Do you have any idea how the Trojans will react? What do you think Hector will do if he finds out?"

"Oh, I want him to find out," Achilles answered icy. "And then he may come here so that I'll once again have the opportunity to show him who is the stronger warrior. But it would not change anything."

Odysseus just shook his head. Something in Achilles' voice told him that he wasn't as indifferent as he wanted to appear. "Why is this Andromache so special?" he asked. "How come you are prepared to relinquish to your vengeance for her? What does she mean to you?"

Achilles snorted. "Don't worry," he said contemptuously. "By dawn, she won't mean anything."

He turned on his heel, leaving Odysseus behind him. Odysseus shook his head and muttered some curses under his breath. This was bound to end in a bad way; he was sure of it.

He could only hope that Achilles would somehow get his sense back. But the chances of that were probably not great, he thought as he watched the warrior, heading for his tent with firm, determined steps.

----

She had not moved since the moment she first entered the tent. She sat absolutely still, on the narrow cot and looked absent-mindedly in front of her. Her fingers clutched the blanket with white knuckles.

Andromache's breathing was short and irregular and her heart beat fiercely. She asked herself how long he had been away, but she had no idea. Her fear had made her lose all sense of time.

If it was something she truly hated, it was to feel afraid. She had ever since she was a little girl who was scared of the darkness in her room after a terrible nightmare. Even then, she had felt ashamed by her display of weakness. She could not abide her nurse's pity and comfort; it had only increased her humiliation. Fear was an unworthy and disgraceful emotion and it had no place in her life, especially not since she was a princess. She had learned to shield and hide the feeling to everyone else and she had done her best to defeat it on her own.

But right now, she didn't feel a day older than that terrified child who had hidden under her bed to keep the evil shadows from finding her. Her hands trembled slightly and she casually remembered another time when she had felt the twinge of fear in her body.

"_It's so beautiful, this country of yours," said the newly wedded bride and indicated the wonderful view from his, no their bedroom, towards the sea. The stars and the silver moon sparkled across the great water, this first of many nights that they would share together._

_Hector smiled, but his eyes didn't leave her. "It's _our_ country now," he gently reminded her._

_She couldn't help but blush and glanced down at her hands that were folded across her lap, where she was sitting on the edge of the great bed. "Yes... I guess it is," she mumbled. _

Andromache smiled slightly when she remembered her nervousness. She had been prepared for what was going to happen, but as he was standing in front of her, this unknown man who she had just married, she knew that none of the preparations could have told her what it would be like.

But her new husband had understood. Somehow he could sense what she was feeling; maybe because he felt the same way? He was not much older than she was, but in that moment he had showed maturity far beyond his years. He had known exactly what to do and how to say the right things to calm her nerves.

Slowly, he had approached her and fallen down to his knees before her. Gently, he had taken her cold, white hands into his own warm and large.

"_Andromache," _he had told her softly. _"We don't know each other, you and I. We are hardly more than strangers to each other."_

Then he had silenced for a moment, watching her hands silently. Then he squeezed them a little harder.

"_But you are my wife now," _he continued, his voice firm. _"And that means that you are closer to me than anyone else. And you can safely trust me when I tell you that I would fight to my dying breath to protect you. I would never let anyone hurt you, Andromache, no more than I would ever hurt you myself." _

Andromache closed her eyes. The memory was vivid and beautiful, but it wasn't something she should think about right now. That would be the same as defiling it.

She wasn't afraid that Achilles would hit her or use physical violence against her. She was not afraid of pain; she had faced the births of her children with courage. What she feared was that he would degrade her, that he would take her pride from her hands and step on it.

More than anything, she feared that he would make an intrusion to some hidden, tender corner of her soul and expose things that should be left in darkness. If he did, she might lose her sanity forever. She knew that he was capable of something like that. He wanted to hurt her; he had said so himself. This was about getting even, about getting his revenge...

She was so deep inside her thoughts that she flinched violently, when the tent flap was suddenly lifted up. Achilles entered the tent and made sure to pull the flap down behind him.

Andromache watched him wordlessly as he stood before her. He had pulled off the dirty armour and was dressed in a robe of blue velvet. He had not bothered to button it and quite obviously he wore nothing under it. Beneath the fabric, she could make out his smooth body and his powerful muscles.

Achilles looked back at her where she was sitting at the bed, holding tightly onto the blanket. He smiled slowly to himself. "I trust you have made yourself comfortable?" he said drawly. She didn't answer, only looked at him with her lips tightly pinched together.

Achilles smile became smug. He could sense her nervousness and he enjoyed it. This was the moment he had waited for. He was in charge now and he intended to make it clear to her that he was in full control of the situation.

Still smiling, he slowly turned away from her and poured himself a goblet of wine. "Do you want some?" he asked her.

She shook her head slightly.

"Really? You look like you may need it," he remarked mockingly and watched her pale face closely.

When she didn't answer, he simply shrugged and took a sip from his own goblet. He enjoyed the fresh, spicy taste of the wine. It was like the sweet taste of victory.

Over the edge of the goblet he kept watching her. She was still pale, but her face was flat and she kept her back straight. She would never beg him or plead with him, he realized. Her pride would forbid her from doing something so humiliating. But somewhere in her eyes, there was a hint of accusation.

Suddenly the taste of the wine felt acid. There was something about that look in her eyes that bothered him and he suddenly felt some of his confidence diminishing. He couldn't stand that. He would not let her dictate what he was supposed to feel.

In a single movement, he carelessly threw the half empty goblet aside. It hit the ground with a bang that seemed to eco across the silence in the tent and the red liquor fell out and coloured the carpet in red.

Andromache had barely even had time to recover from this unexpected action, before he had moved close to her and pulled her up from the bed, to her feet. He looked deeply into her eyes as he pulled the cloak off from her stiff shoulders and let it fall to the ground.

She wore a simple, grey gown that looked like something a peasant's wife would wear. But it was not enough to hide her elegant, slender body beneath the fabric.

Achilles moved to stand behind her, putting his broad hands on her shoulders and caressing them. Possessively, he lifted up her braid and kissed her smooth neck. His hands kept stroking her shoulders as his lips worked their way down to her back.

Andromache closed her eyes. She was grateful that he couldn't see her face at the moment. Once again, her thoughts drifted back to her wedding night. She could still remember the feeling of Hector's warm and gentle hands as he softly, almost reverently discovered her body.

He had been so careful, so afraid that he would hurt her in any way. Andromache could still remember how they had fallen asleep together afterward, tightly entwined. As she lay in his arms and listened to him as he slept, any nervousness that she still had left inside her heart had disappeared.

_I won't think about it now, _she told herself strictly. _I won't._

Achilles' dissolved her braid and ran his long fingers through the soft, slightly wavy tresses of hair. He lifted a fat curl to his lips and breathed in her wonderful scent. Slowly, he turned her around and pressed his mouth against hers. His arms encircled her waist and pulled her close to him. In his kisses, there were no tenderness, only a wish for control and dominance.

Andromache gave him no reaction whatsoever. She didn't make any resistance and she didn't encourage him. She was absolutely still as his hot mouth devoured her cold lips. Her arms hung limply along her sides. Finally, Achilles couldn't help but pull back. He watched her face, searched for a sign, something that would tell him that she wasn't as unmoved as she appeared, but he found nothing.

As Andromache stared at him, another memory crossed her mind. A memory of a day outside Thebe when the sun radiated from a cloudless sky. They had released their horses and let them taste the juicy grass. But they didn't keep a close eye on them. They were far too engaged in each other, as they were laying stretched out on the soft green beneath them.

_Suddenly, he raised himself up to his elbow and leaned over her, gently stroking a stray of hair from her face. She looked anxiously at him as he bent over. When his lips touched hers, she quickly put a hand on his chest to stop him._

"_No," she said and sat up quickly._

_He frowned jokingly. "I didn't exactly plan to kill you."_

"_I know that," she answered in embarrassment._

_He made another attempt, but she immediately shrank back. "I said no," she said, this time more firmly._

_He sighed in frustration. "Why not?"_

"_Because I can't," she answered, her cheeks blushing. "And you know that."_

_He shook his head and chuckled wearily. "Andromache, there are no one around here to watch us."_

"_That is not the point!" she snapped back. _

_He kept trying to persuade her, but she kept refusing to even discuss the matter. Finally, Achilles became tired of the ridiculous argument. He pulled her close and kissed her, whether she wanted him to or not. _

_Against her will, Andromache found herself responding to his intimacy. The passion of his kiss made her feel dizzy and her body melted into his strong arms as he held her close to his chest. _

_She managed to get some sense back and twisted her head away. "Achilles, no...," she mumbled throatily. She was trying to sound stern, but she failed miserably._

_He turned her head back to him, gently but firmly and looked into her wide eyes. "You don't mean that," he said confidently and kissed her again. His lips slipped down her throat._

_And of course he was right. Because even if her mind said no, no, no, her body was loudly screaming yes, yes, yes and it was difficult to ignore. With all of her soul, she wanted to give in and return his passion. She wanted to throw her arms around his neck and taste his skin with her lips. More than anything, she longed to feel his strong, rough body close to her. _

_She felt nauseous with herself. What a weak and pitiful thing she was! All that it took was a handsome face and a sweet kiss to make her forget about her obligations. What would her father think about her if he ever found out? She had betrayed him. And her future husband, the prince of Troy? He would not want her, not a soiled and defiled woman..._

_Her fear brought her willpower back to her and somehow, she managed to push him away. "No! Don't you understand? No."_

_She was breathing fiercely and staring at him with wide eyes. Achilles stared at her for a moment, before he rose from his sitting position and walked away from her. _

Andromache asked herself if he also remembered that moment? One look at his face told her that he did. He remembered and even though so many years had passed it still made him furious to think about it. She had rejected him, like some discarded necklace.

He felt a wave of heat through his body as he thought about this. She didn't want him; she had turned him down. But tonight, he was in control and nothing she said or did was going to change that.

Roughly, he pulled her to him again and kissed her mouth firmly, pressing hard. He released her momentarily to pull back the covers on the cot. With a savage shove, he pushed her onto the bed.

He climbed onto it next to her and bent over to kiss her again. His mouth fiercely glided down along her neck while his hands caressed her hips and sides. He enjoyed the feeling of her white, smooth skin under his mouth and continued to explore her. His fingers moved to the laces of her dress. He longed to see more of her, feel her and touch her. His hands were fumbling with the small strings. His desire was almost overwhelming.

She slowly closed her eyes and turned her head away from him. She was still not moving; she let him do as he pleased. _Be strong, _she told herself silently. _Be brave. For their sake. Hector. Astyanax. For their sake. _

Achilles' hand started to pull the hem of her dress up along her leg. He watched as he placed his large, callous hand against her knee. He caressed her soft skin and slowly moved up to her thigh.

He stopped momentarily to look at her. She still lay with her head on the side and her eyelids closed. Somehow, she sensed that he was watching her. Slowly she turned her head back and opened her eyes. This time, there was no accusation in them, only a small glimpse of pain.

As much as Achilles wanted to, he couldn't stay unaffected. He couldn't pretend like her eyes weren't cutting his soul in pieces. And above all, he couldn't keep a familiar voice out of his head. It was his own voice and the words came from a time when he had been another man.

"_Andromache," he whispered, looking deeply into her eyes. "I beg you, let me love you. Let me show you how much I admire you, how much I adore and desire you. Let me show you how a woman like you should be loved. Let me make your body sing under my hands."_

That was how he had wanted to love her, how he would have loved if she had only let him. He had wanted to love her with so much tenderness and gentleness as he could ever give to someone else. He had wanted to discover her beautiful body, slowly and carefully. He had wanted to give her pleasure and find his own gratification in her response.

He had not wanted it to be like this. He had wanted her to give herself willingly to him. He had not wanted her as a part of a bargain or through extortion. No, _never _like that.

When he kept looking into her eyes and saw the pain, he also realized that he had been wrong. Andromache was not just something he wanted because he couldn't have her. She was not like a toy that he would throw away once he had used it. She was more than that. And no matter how many times he bedded her, he would still want her. Because it was not her body that he wanted.

With the realization, his lust suddenly died. He moved off from the cot. She was still staring at him as she carefully sat up on the bed. Their eyes locked for a moment that seemed to last forever.

She opened her mouth to say something, but he couldn't bear to listen. He turned away from her and left the tent without a word.


	9. Chapter 9

**Chapter 9 **

It was an unusually grim night and the beach was completely exposed to the wind. The cold night breeze found its way beneath his robe and chilled his bones. But he hardly noticed. He felt completely blank inside. He sat silently on the damp sand and watched as the powerful waves hit the shore.

One hour might have passed, or maybe two, when he suddenly heard a soft movement behind him. Without a word, she settled down next to him and pulled her knees up to her chin. Achilles glanced carefully at her. She had put the cloak back on, but her hair was still unbound and flapped loosely around her shoulders as it was caught by the wind.

"I thought you'd be by your husband's bedside by now," he said bitingly.

She didn't answer. For a moment, he asked himself if she had heard his poisoned comment. When she finally spoke up, her eyes were still aimed at the great, dark ocean and her voice was distant, like she wasn't really talking to anyone in particular.

"I used to come down here sometimes. I used to look out towards the horizon. And always, I would tell myself that I wasn't really thinking about you. But I was. I kept wondering where you were, what you were doing..." She stopped momentarily to glance at him. "And if you were happy."

"Happy?" Achilles repeated with a hint of disbelief.

"I was hoping that you had been able to put the past behind you," she answered shrugging.

"Can you tell me how I was supposed to do that?" He asked her sharply. "When I knew that you were here and that you were with someone else?"

Once again, she didn't answer. She just sighed a little and looked down at her hands.

Achilles watched her closely. "You love him, don't you?" he asked her, his voice resigned.

"Yes," she answered.

He wanted to pull a face, but managed to choke it. Instead, he turned to her with a challenging look on his face. "Tell me this: Do you love him, because it's your duty, or because you really feel that way in your heart?"

Andromache thought for a moment. "Both," she answered simply. Achilles cringed and she continued: "He is a good man, you know. He is like me and we understand each other."

"And you have a child." Achilles said flatly.

She nodded. "Yes, we finally had one. But it took me six years, four miscarriages and one stillborn daughter to provide Hector with an heir." Her mouth was formed into a dry smile. "So I guess you were right; I may be considered a poor investment."

He looked somewhat embarrassed. "I suppose I should say that I am sorry," he said grudgingly.

She shrugged it off. "Don't bother. It makes no difference."

They were both silent for a while, looking out at the great, mystic water where Poseidon was said to rule.

"I could have made you happy, Andromache," Achilles said abruptly.

Immediately, she shook her head. "No, you couldn't," she said firmly.

"How do you know that?" he asked her fiercely. "If you had come with me you would have been free!"

"That might be true," she agreed. "But I would have been forced to sacrifice my roots, my family and my honour. And I didn't want freedom at that expense."

Achilles rolled his eyes. "I don't understand you." he said in weary frustration.

"I know you don't," she said flatly. "That is the difference between you and Hector."

Achilles almost flinched and he closed his fists tightly. Her words were like a spear through his heart. "You really are as cold as ice, my lady," he mumbled.

"I am just being truthful," Andromache said brutally. "And the truth is that I could never be yours. No more than you could ever really be mine."

Achilles grabbed a handful of sand and flung it into the dark water, consummated by anger and frustration. "I would have liked to fight him for your hand."

"Don't be stupid," Andromache snorted dismissively. "Besides, it wasn't your fight."

Achilles reddened. He _hated _being patronized. "Well, if you had at least given me a chance..."

She looked at him seriously. "I was honest with you from the start. I never lied. I told you that I was betrothed. You knew that I couldn't..."

Her words were enough to push him over the edge.

"But you made me believe that you would change your mind!" Achilles snarled with fury. "You made me believe that things would be different, that you would come with me, if I only did the right things!"

"I did not..." she began, somewhat shocked at his outburst.

"Yes, you did!" he roared "Don't you understand that has been the worst of it all! For eight years, you have forced me to spend my time thinking, wondering, asking myself what I did wrong; what I could have done in a different way!"

"There was nothing you could do!" Andromache said, her voice shivering.

"Then why did you have to make me believe that there was?" he spat and moved to his feet.

"I didn't!" she exclaimed and sprang up from her sitting position too.

"Yes you did!"

"NO!" The force behind her word shocked them both. Achilles silenced and stared at her in wonder. Andromache swallowed and tried to calm her fierce respiration. It wasn't until now that she realized that they had practically been screaming at each others' faces.

She pulled a deep breath and said, in the calm and controlled voice that distinguished the princess of Troy: "I never intended to, and if I still did, then I _swear_ by my honour that I didn't mean it."

"Damn your honour...," he muttered harshly and turned away from her. "Damn you." When he turned his back on her, with his head hanging forward, Andromache felt a reluctant twinge of pity. She gently reached out her hand to place it on his shoulder.

But her hand had barely touched him before he spun back and grabbed her shoulders with a strength and force that made her gasp. "Damn you, do you hear!" His hands shook her savagely. Andromache hung limply, like a rag doll in his powerful grasp. His ice blue eyes pierced through her mind as he held her body close to his. Those eyes were filled with frustration, jealousy, confusion and an overwhelming hatred; feelings he had buried inside himself for eight years.

And then he suddenly broke. His hands released her shoulders and his head fell against her chest. His heavy body was too much for her and she was forced to kneel down again. She put her arms around him, carefully at first, then harder and more fiercely. She held him close to her body as he cried like a child in her embrace. His entire body was shaking with sobs and his muscular arms encircled her form so tightly that she found it difficult to breath.

As she heard him weep, this strong and powerful man, this unmoved and undefeated warrior, the realization of what pain she had put him through hit Andromache's mind like a ton of rocks. Compassion and guilt overflowed her heart and she almost couldn't keep her own tears back.

She held him for a long time, stroking his fair hair and mumbling soft words of comfort, like she would do when Astyanax was sad. His tears wet her cloak and his head was heavy against her bosom, but she didn't care.

Finally, his sobs silenced and his body seemed to relax a little. He lifted his head and looked at her face, his eyes still damp with tears. "Forgive me... please forgive me."

Andromache didn't know what to answer. She wanted to tell him that there was nothing to forgive, she wanted to ease his guilt and shame, but she couldn't find any words. She couldn't lie. "It's all right," she just said weakly.

He shook his head. "No, it's not." He mumbled throatily. "Ever since I first came here, I have done my best to hurt you."

Andromache smiled gently and caressed his wet cheek. "Yes, but no matter what you may have done, I think I have hurt you worse."

Tears started to fall from Achilles' eyes again. In shame, he hid his face in his hands. "Gods, sometimes I thought I would lose my mind!" he moaned in a choked voice. "Night and day for eight long years I have been dying to see your face again. I wanted to give it back to you. The pain. I wanted you to know what it was like. Being all alone... deserted..."

"I can't blame you," Andromache said carefully. She slowly found his chin and raised his head from behind his hand. "But you must believe me," she said gently. "I never wanted to cause you any pain. Never."

Achilles snatched his head back from her hand. "Well, you did," he stated flatly. "You love him now and I guess there was nothing I could do about it except trying to take him away from you. But it wouldn't matter. I could kill you both, but you would still love him."

"Hector was my fate, Achilles," Andromache said simply.

He shook his head vehemently. "A fate is something you create through your own actions, your own choices."

"And I choose him." Andromache answered sharply. Then her voice softened. "You may not want to hear this, but you might have a fate out there too. There are so many women who deserve to be loved if you will only open your eyes."

Andromache tried to tell herself that this was what she wanted, but the words were surprisingly difficult to form. She did want him to be happy. Still, there was something disturbing about the thought of him with another woman.

Achilles chuckled joylessly and shrugged. "My mother said something like that too. She told me that I would find a woman if I stayed in Laryssa." He slowly raised his head and his eyes found hers. "But I knew, as I do now that there is only one woman I want. And since I know that there is no one else like her, I have no wish to waste my time trying to find a substitute for her."

"Achilles..." Andromache started miserably, her cheeks red.

He continued like he hadn't heard her. "If you had only let me, I would have given you everything. I would have loved you more than any woman has ever been loved. But you didn't want me to love you and I couldn't stand that." Angrily, he shook the sand out of his robe. "I couldn't stand that you didn't want what I wanted."

"But I did," Andromache answered. He looked up at her in surprise and she continued. "I did," she repeated firmly and she couldn't help but smile at his astonished expression. "Sometimes I wanted it so much I thought I would burst. And knowing that we had to part almost broke me to pieces."

She paused and breathed deeply. The memory of the angst and pain she had felt was surprisingly strong and it made her heart sting. For eight years, she had done her best to forget about it.

"But it was not about what I wanted." She continued quietly. "You don't know what it's like to have a family and knowing that everything you do will also affect them. Being a princess means that you are a part of something greater than yourself. For ages, my fathers have formed a line, a tradition of greatness. That is what has bound us all together." She shrugged. "What did my own wishes mean next to that? Would I break my bond to my family? Renounce my own fathers? My country?" She shook her head. "No I would not. Can you not see why?"

Achilles was silent for some time before he nodded slowly. "Maybe I can. But that doesn't mean that I can understand it."

"I know." She said softly.

He cleared his throat. "But if you had been free..."

"I was not free, Achilles." She answered him immediately.

Achilles nodded impatiently. "I know that, but please, tell me this:" He swallowed and looked closely at her. "What if you had not been a princess, only a young woman from Thebe, a merchant's daughter or something? Would you have made a different choice then? If there were no traditions to consider?"

His question surprised her. It was something she had never reflected upon before. Finally, she shrugged. "I can't answer that," she said honestly. "And besides, it makes no difference now. I am what I am. Just like you are."

Achilles sighed, but he said nothing. They were both silent for some time again, until they heard a sound behind them. Then glanced around and found that the myrmidons had returned to the camp with the empty cart. Andromache silently thanked the gods. Hector had been brought home safe to the castle.

Achilles rose to his feet. Andromache looked up at him in surprise. Silently, he gave her his hand and helped her up. "You are trembling," he mumbled to himself and wrapped the cloak tighter around her form. Then he led her with him over to the myrmidons.

"Eudorus," he said and his second in command raised his head.

"Yes, my lord?"

Achilles glanced at Andromache before he spoke up. "I want you and the men to take the princess safe back to Troy at once."

Andromache flinched. "But...?" she began in surprise, but Achilles silenced her with a gesture from his hand.

"I understand, my lord," Eudorus answered politely. "Naturally, we will escort her."

The other myrmidons didn't look very delighted at the prospect of being forced to drag themselves all the way to Troy a second time, but they knew better than protesting.

"Good," Achilles answered authoritatively. "And remember, I want you to deliver her safe and unharmed to King Priam. Is that understood?"

Eudorus bowed.

"Very well, you have better leave right now," Achilles said and turned back to Andromache.

She looked at him with confusion painted across her face. "I don't understand... Why do you..."

"Because you are not a horse or a fine sword," he answered her simply.

"What? What are you..."

"There are people in Troy who are depending on you," Achilles interrupted her softly. "You must go back to them."

Distraught, she shook her head. "But how can I go back now... When you..."

Achilles cupped her face in his hands. "Andromache," he said throatily, almost desperately. "Leave _now, _or I will not be able to let you go."

He released her, but his eyes truly showed that he meant what he had said. Andromache wanted to protest. She had a thousand questions that she wanted to ask, but she forced herself to contain them. She realized that he was right.

Sighing, she left his side and climbed into the cart, next to the young myrmidon who was driving. The man took the reins and they drove forward, heading for Troy.

Andromache couldn't resist looking back. She knew that she shouldn't, but she couldn't control her longing.

Achilles was standing outside of his tent, his arms crossed. Their eyes met. For a moment, Andromache almost broke. She wanted to tell the driver to stop. She wanted to jump off the cart and run back, but she forced herself to stay in her seat.

Long after the cart had disappeared out of sight, Achilles stood outside his tent, his eyes aimed at the road. His stood there, unmoving for a long time. Then he turned towards his tent and went to finally get some sleep after the longest night in his life.

----


	10. Chapter 10

**Author's note: **Jesus, this story turned out to be so much longer than I had expected! Five chapters at most was what I had planned, but the story sort of developed itself. Let me just say that I have enjoyed writing this (despite the occasional writer's block) and it has been great to read your opinions and reviews about the story. I am very, very grateful!

Anyway, here is the last chapter and I wish you a happy reading! I would love to hear your thoughts about the ending. Was it what you had expected?

**Chapter 10**

Agamemnon bolted up from his throne, like he had been fired from a bow. "WHAT?" he exclaimed, like he couldn't believe his ears.

Odysseus sighed as he was standing before the king with old Nestor by his side. "Like I said, my lord, I found it an unwise thing to do right from the start, but..."

"Unwise?" Agamemnon repeated in disbelief. With two strides, he approached the king of Ithaca. "You are telling me that Achilles neglected to kill prince Hector; that he dragged him behind his carriage to the camp without informing me, that he had the nerve to release him, still without informing me and without even getting something advantageous back from the Trojans, and you call that unwise? Unwise!?"

"Yes I do," Odysseus answered and begged the gods to give him the gift of patience. "However, it hardly matters now. It is done and let us leave it at that."

"I will not leave it at that!" Agamemnon snapped back. "If Achilles for one misbegotten moment thinks that he can do whatever he wishes simply to vex me, he has better think again..."

"I am quite sure he hasn't done any of this to cause you anger, my lord," Odysseus said politely.

"Agamemnon raised his eyebrow. "Oh? What other reason could there be?"

Odysseus hesitated. Although he was quite certain that Hector's wife had played a considerable part in her husband's release, he was unwilling to let anyone know about it. And he definitely didn't wish to betray Achilles in front of a man he loathed and despised. "Achilles has been devastated over the loss of his cousin." He answered simply. "His actions may not be completely rational at the moment."

"I have no place for madmen among my lines," Agamemnon answered contemptuously.

"Achilles has nothing to prove in battle," Odysseus said coldly. "He has always given everything he has for the Greeks."

Agamemnon scowled. "Oh, you think so? With prince Hector gone, we would have had a golden opportunity to beat the Trojans, but now thanks to your friend, he is back with them!"

"But he is wounded, my lord," Nestor interjected. "It isn't very likely that he will be able to bear his armour anytime soon."

"The man's mere presence will be enough to empower the Trojans, even if he is as weak as a newborn babe!" Agamemnon snorted back. He was silent for a moment and then he furiously shook his head. "It doesn't matter! I will not let that fool of a man Achilles destroy my plans. We will attack Troy! This time, I shall force them down to their knees if it's the last thing I do!"

"But we still have no way to breach their walls," The sensible Nestor pointed out.

"I will smash their walls to the ground," Agamemnon answered coldly. With the glance of a fanatic in his eyes, he lifted his hands to the sky. "Hear me, Zeus!"

Odysseus and Nestor glanced wearily at each other. Odysseus sighed. He realized that he had better think of something soon. Or else this would probably end in dishonour and humility as well as a Grecian blood bath.

----

Later that night, Odysseus sat by the campfire, brooding on how he would master his problems – the opposing Trojans as well as the pride and foolish king of Mycenae.

He knew better than expecting any help or support from Achilles. He had not seen the man for days; he had shut himself up inside his tent and refused to step into the light of day. Visiting him would probably not be a very clever thing to do, unless of course you had the particular wish of losing your head, which Odysseus didn't.

Although Odysseus had no idea what had happened between his friend and the Trojan princess, he had been told that Achilles had let her go back to the city unharmed. Odysseus was relieved; it showed that Achilles still possessed some sense at least. Only the gods could tell what the infuriated Agamemnon would have done had he discovered that Priam's daughter-in-law was present in the camp.

Odysseus sighed and looked mutely into the flames. It wasn't easy to be a king as you were also a warrior. He was walking a fine line and the smallest misstep could cost him very dear.

Casually, his eyes drifted to one of his soldiers, who sat next to him. The man was carving something out of a piece of wood. Odysseus first thought that it mostly resembled a fat little pig, but as he looked closer at the long neck, he realized that it was supposed to be a horse.

"That is good," he told the man, smiling slightly.

The man smiled back lightly. "For my son, back home," he said and continued his work. There was a deep longing in his voice and Odysseus couldn't keep the thoughts of his own son, Telemachus out of his head.

Then, an idea suddenly started to take form inside his mind. Slowly, his eyes returned to the fire, but this time, his thoughts were not concentrated on the deep flames.

----

The men were working hard on the beach under the inspection of Odysseus. Heavy boards were dragged and formed to fit their part. The rhythmic beating from dozens of hammers was echoing across the camp.

Achilles stood by the opening to his tent, shielded by the flap. He watched the men's work flatly. He knew what Odysseus meant to do. It was a bold plan, obviously, but it had a good chance of working. Everyone knew Priam's weakness; his blind trust in his gods. He might very well fall for the trick.

_Especially since his son is indisposed._

Achilles sighed to himself. His fight was over, both professionally and privately. He knew that he ought to go home. But he still had a reason to stay in Troy.

He looked at the men's work. He thought about Agamemnon and how he and his followers would treat the people of Troy if they managed to conquer the city. They would probably kill anything that moved. She was still in there; inside Agamemnon's main target: the castle of Troy. And thanks to Achilles' actions, the man who was supposed to protect her had been crippled by a wound.

Achilles shook his head. Why did he even waste his time brooding? He had already made up his mind. He knew what he had to do. That would probably be the only glorious act he committed during this war.

He glanced grimly at Odysseus. He knew that his friend would be surprised to hear that Achilles had decided to join them in their last fight, but of course he would also be relieved and delighted.

But before he talked to Odysseus, Achilles went to give Eudorus his last orders.

----

"The plague," the high priest said firmly. "They desecrated the temple of Apollo, and Apollo desecrated their flesh."

Priam, Paris and Glaucus listened to the clerk with slight disbelief. The beach was deserted; there was not a single Greek ship in sight, only a few dead men, scattered in the sand. General Glaucus came to the conclusion that the Greeks had fled, out of fear for the deadly infection.

"What is this?" Priam asked.

Before them, a giant wooden object was towering. It looked like a huge horse.

"An offering to Poseidon," the confident priest continued. "The Greeks are praying for a safe return home. We should take it to his temple."

Paris was not as certain. "I think we should burn it," he said fiercely. He didn't want to defile his city, nor the temple of Poseidon with an object that had been made by Greek hands. "Father, burn it," he told Priam firmly.

Priam glanced up at the horse's enormous head for a moment, before turning back to his son. "Take it to the temple," he said shortly and turned away.

----

Andromache knew nothing of what happened at the beach. As a matter of fact, she didn't know of anything that took place outside the palace. For several days, she had been working furiously to bring her husband back to health again.

Hector's injuries had not been fatal, despite his great loss of blood. The healers had used herbs to mend his wound, but it had been inflamed and the prince had been struck by a high fever.

Andromache had been with him the whole time. Day as well as night, she had been sitting untiringly at his bedside; bathing his hot forehead, helping him to drink some water, changing his bandages or just holding his hand tightly. Hector had barely even recognized her. He had been raving and thrashing savagely on his bed. Sometimes, the fever seemed to have driven him out of his mind.

But Andromache refused to give up. She would stay with him; guard him from the jaws of death. She would not let him go; she would tell herself sternly when she felt like her weariness was catching up with her.

When twelve days had gone by, Hector suddenly opened his eyes and Andromache could tell that he knew who she was. He was still ghostly pale, but there was a reasonable look on his face again.

"Andromache?"

Andromache had been standing by the washbasin, but now she dropped her rag into the water and hurried to her husband's side. She sat down next to him on the bed and took his hand. "Yes, It's me," she said gently and squeezed his hand.

"I thought you were a goddess at first," Hector mumbled weakly.

"How are you feeling?" Andromache asked.

"How I am feeling?" Hector managed a smile. "I feel like I have been bent in two actually."

Andromache chuckled and shook her head. "You will be fine," she said firmly and pulled the hair out of his pale face.

"Will I?" Hector asked. "That's hard to believe. For some time I really thought it was all over."

"No," Andromache said confidently. "I would never have permitted that. Never in my life."

Hector nodded slowly and rested his eyes on her face. Andromache knew what he was thinking about. She pulled a deep breath and prepared for it. She had known that the moment would come sooner or later. Briseis had been surprised when Andromache had been brought back to the castle, but she had loyally refrained from asking her any questions and she had not told anyone about what she knew. Priam and Paris had only been relieved to see her back safe and they had not seemed to suspect anything.

But Hector was her husband and he knew her better than anyone else. His brown eyes looked closely at her, but he didn't say anything. Finally, Andromache found herself forced to break the silence.

"Hector..." she started uncomfortably.

"Don't say anything," Hector answered.

"But...?"

"Please...." Hector leaned back against his pillows. "Just don't."

Andromache nodded slowly. Suddenly, she realized that there was no need for explanations or excuses. Hector knew. He probably wouldn't say anything, but he knew everything. Like so many times before, he had sensed it just by looking into her eyes.

She mildly pressed his hand. "I am here," she said softly.

There was pain in his eyes, but no accusation or revolt. Her husband understood, but he neither judged nor despised her for her actions.

----

It was the first truly calm night in Troy for many days. The celebrations in honour of the Trojan victory had been going on for most of the day and everyone had been almost drunk with joy and pride. People had been laughing, dancing, singing and cheering all over the city. More than anything else, they had saluted their brave and wise king and his two courageous sons.

When their energy finally drained, people had returned to their homes and fallen asleep in their beds, finally at peace. They had nothing to fear anymore. Their beloved city was safe again and the intruders had been scared off.

The town was almost deserted now and everyone was at ease. Not even the guards outside the palace seemed to take their tasks very seriously at the moment. The streets were empty; the town was resting.

Outside the temple of Poseidon, the giant horse had been placed. It had been the centre of attention for most of the celebrating, but now it was left alone, with only a few torches for company.

Suddenly, there was a small, creaking sound heard in the silence. Low, hushed voices were talking to each other from somewhere. Suddenly, a piece of the wooden horse started moving. A door was opened and a human face became visible.

Quick, trained feet reached the ground. The soldiers were effective. They moved for the gate, quickly destroying any resistance they came across. A signal was sent to the others who were waiting anxiously outside. They had been invited to join the party inside Troy; the city that could not be conquered.

----

Andromache didn't know why she had waked up; maybe it was a basic instinct. She felt cold as she was sitting in an uncomfortable chair next to her husband's bed. Driven by an unfamiliar, unpleasant feeling, she moved to the window and looked out over the dark city.

She heard sounds; someone was screaming. Something was going on. She sharpened her ears and heard other noises. The sound of wildly neighing horses, more screaming. People were running; some of them were chasing, others were being chased. The sounds were close.

Suddenly, a yellow shining lit up the dark sky. Andromache's eyes widened when she spotted the huge, bright flames. Houses in Troy were being fired. People fled in panic. They were running from enemies they had thought were defeated.

"What is going on?" Andromache heard Hector's voice behind her. Despite his weakness, he sat up in his bed, staring at her. His eyes showed that he was guessing what was happening, but hoping desperately that he was wrong.

Andromache swallowed. "We have to go," she told him simply.

----

Chaos had ensued in Troy. Through deception and cunning, the enemy had managed to get inside the walls. The city was in their hands now and the people were left at their mercy.

The air was thick with the smoke from hundreds of burning houses. The Greeks set fire to the buildings as soon as they had gotten their hands on any treasures inside them. Men were cold-bloodedly murdered when they tried to protect themselves and their families. Women were violated in the streets. Children cried for their parents. The city was being pillaged, raped and ruined.

The smell of death rested inside Achilles' nose as he made his way to the palace. He did his best to ignore it; the smell and what was going on around him. He only knew what he had to do. He ran quickly and with determined steps with only one objective on his mind.

Lithely, he climbed up the high walls of the castle. When he reached the top, he was immediately spotted by two soldiers. Achilles dealt with them swiftly. At sword point, he asked one of them where she was. But the soldier swore he didn't know.

"Please," the man grated. "I have a son..."

"Then get him out of Troy," Achilles said grimly and hurried off.

He glimpsed a group of people fleeing in panic through the castle but he couldn't make out any familiar form. "Andromache!" he called in frustration and continued to make his way deeper into the infernal palace.

----

Hector and Andromache were making their way through an abandoned corridor in the palace. All the servants and the guards had escaped. They realized that they had to tell as many people as they could that they knew a way out, but they also knew that they didn't have much time.

Andromache held Astyanax in her arms. He was safe inside the warm bundles of her cloak next to her heart. She hoped that he couldn't hear the alarm that echoed from somewhere in the palace and if he really did, she hoped that he wouldn't understand what it was. Hector was walking next to her, with his hand on her shoulder for support. He used his legs with great effort, but he clinched his teeth tightly together, since he knew that he didn't have any other choice.

He had told Andromache to go; to leave him behind and save herself and Astyanax, but naturally she wouldn't listen to such talk. She had forced him to rise and come with them, despite the fact that he was slowing their escape. Hector cursed his own uselessness, but he knew that it was not the right moment to feel sorry for himself. Andromache had a will of iron and she would probably carry him if he wouldn't walk.

Naturally, they had made their way past Paris' and Helen's chamber to inform them that they had to get out. Briseis had not been in her room and no one seemed to know where she was. Paris had been anxious to save his father, so he and Helen had ran ahead to find him before they left. They had all agreed to meet down the cellar.

Hector and Andromache moved in a slower speed, for obvious reasons. Andromache was starting to feel very stressed. They were making their way down the stairs, but the palace was great and it was a long way to go. Would they make it in time?

As they were preparing to take a short cut through one of the great reception halls, Hector suddenly stopped abruptly. At first, Andromache looked at him with confusion, but then she heard the sound. The distinct sound of quick, human feet could be heard from somewhere inside the hall.

Andromache glanced at her husband. She knew well that he was in no condition to fight. She swallowed and realized that it would be up to her to protect her family. Quickly, she handed Astyanax over to Hector. Then she slowly pulled her husband's sword out of the sheath. Hector's eyes were filled with angst, but he didn't object. He knew that this was a matter of life. Slowly, he stepped back with the sleeping baby in his arms.

Andromache snuck into the hall and hid from view behind a great pillar. The steps were rapidly approaching. She closed her eyes and squeezed the sword tightly in her hand.

"_Gods, give me strength," _she prayed silently.

She pulled a deep breath and listened as the steps were getting closer. She let the man pass, before she stepped out of the shadows and pressed the point of her sword against the back of his neck.

"Stand still," she whispered harshly. "Unless you prefer death."

The man didn't move an inch, but his back became stiff. "Actually, I think I do," he finally said.

In absolute amazement, Andromache lowered the sword. Suddenly, her senses recognized the fair hair, the powerful form, the black armour. And above all, she recognized the voice. She didn't object when he slowly turned around.

Achilles' looked at her with a slightly amused smile on his lips. "You still remember how to use that?" he asked her and nodded at her sword.

Andromache was still shocked to see him, but she couldn't help but smile faintly at his words. "You taught me well," she said simply.

Achilles raised his eyebrows. "So it seems," he said coolly. "And apparently you have finally learned not to move like a stomping horse as well."

Andromache could just shake her head. "What are you doing here?" she asked him.

He didn't have time to manage. They heard a sound behind them and Achilles quickly turned around, with his hand on the shaft of his sword. But it was just Hector, who was leaning against the doorframe with Astyanax pressed against his chest.

Achilles watched the little boy for a moment, before raising his eyes to his father. The two men looked flatly at each other for a moment.

"Andromache?" Hector finally asked.

His voice was perfectly neutral, but Andromache knew very well that the question could prove life altering. Hector was asking her which path she was taking, and with who.

She looked at the two men who were standing in front of her. They were both brilliant in their own ways, despite being so different both in terms of appearance and character. She let her eyes rest on the blonde, Greek warrior in his armour and his fierce, determined expression. Then she looked at the man who was standing in the doorway, crippled by a wound and with a baby in his arms. His eyes were sympathetic.

And Andromache realized that there was no decision to be made. She had chosen her path a long time ago and she knew who she had chosen to walk it with.

Quickly, she turned to Hector. "Go on," she told him, adding; "I'll catch up with you."

Hector showed no reaction; he only nodded shortly and left with Astyanax. Once they were alone, Andromache turned back to Achilles. His eyes showed no grief or disappointment, there was only a small glimpse of sadness in his eyes.

"I came to make sure that you were all right," he said honestly. "I didn't want to see you fall into Agamemnon's hands."

"How did you get inside?" she asked him.

He smiled slightly. "I climbed over the castle wall." Seeing her astonished expression, he continued simply: "I would have climbed a thousand walls to get to you, Andromache."

"I know," she answered weakly.

"I would have taken you out of this city if I had to," he continued, shrugging. Then he sighed and added: "But there is no need to, is it?" He nodded toward the doorway where Hector had disappeared.

Andromache shook her head slowly. "No." For a moment, she considered asking him to come with them. But then she deserted the idea. She knew that he wouldn't want to.

"I see," Achilles said quietly. Then he raised his head to look into her face. "Is there anything else I can do for you?"

Andromache frowned. "For me?"

"Yes," he answered quietly. "Anything? If I cannot save your life, there might be something else? Or maybe some_one_ else?

Andromache could see an almost desperate wish in his eyes. _"Please," _they said. _"Please give me an opportunity to pay back at least something of all the pain I have caused your family, your country and yourself."_

Andromache hesitated, but she realized that there was something. "Briseis wasn't in her room," she told him in a low voice. "If you could..."

"I'll find her," he answered immediately.

Andromache nodded. Slowly, she reached out and took his hand, squeezing it lightly. "Thank you," she said sincerely.

He nodded back, even though he didn't seem to think that he deserved any gratitude. He looked like he was about to open his mouth to say something, but then he abruptly said good bye and turned on his heel.

Andromache stood behind and watched him go. She knew that she ought to go after Hector and Astyanax right away. But she couldn't.

"Achilles."

In surprise, he turned around. Quickly, Andromache ran up to him. Gently, she placed her hands on his broad shoulders. Her fierce breath hit his face. She cleared her throat and managed to find her voice.

"If I had been free to make my decision eight years ago," she started, quickly, as if she knew that she had to say this before she lost her courage. "Then I would have boarded your ship, sailed with you to Laryssa and I would have spent the rest of my life by your side."

He stared at her with wide eyes. Then he sadly shook his head. "You would never have been happy."

Andromache smiled. "Love and happiness are two different things." She caressed his cheek gently. Then she glanced towards the doorway. "I must go," she said quietly.

"Andromache..."

She took one step forward, he pulled her close. Their lips met hard and quick and then she was gone. She ran to catch up with her husband and her son with the heavy sword in her hands. He stood silent for a moment, watching the doorway, where she had left.

Then he turned around and went to do what she had asked him.

----

When Andromache, Hector and Astyanax finally reached the secret passageway, they were met by a frantic Helen. They had not found Priam, she told them and Paris doubted that he would ever leave his city behind.

"He told me to wait for you here and that we should go without him," she continued with angst. "He said that he was going to find Briseis and catch up with us later."

Andromache froze. Paris had gone to find Briseis. For a moment, her muscles tensed and she felt a wild urge to run back. But one look at her exhausted husband told her that she couldn't. She had made her choice.

"Well," she said firmly. "Then we have to trust him to stay true to his word." When Helen shook her head, she added: "We must leave now."

Finally, Helen nodded. "You are right," she whispered quietly.

Lead by Hector, Andromache and Helen, a few Trojan citizens started their long journey through the dark tunnels.

----

Many long and strenuous hours later, the small group finally saw the light again as they reached the end of the tunnel at Mount Ida. Carefully, they stepped out, blinking dizzy at the sharp light.

Helen was carrying Astyanax, as Andromache was supporting Hector with his arm around her shoulders and her arm around his waist. He was so weak that she almost had to drag him. Still, she knew that he would make it; they would all make it somehow.

Paris and Briseis had not yet cached up with them and all they could do was to pray that they had got out of the palace safely.

As Andromache lifted her eyes past the mountain, she could look back towards the ruins of the city of Troy. Hector turned away from it; he didn't want to see.

But Andromache's eyes fell upon something that reached from Troy towards the sky. It was the high, thin pillar of smoke that would come from a funeral stake. Someone had fallen; a brave and strong warrior and the Greeks were showing him their respect by giving his body and soul to the gods.

"You deserve the glory," Andromache whispered silently to herself.

Then she continued forward, leading her husband with her. She didn't have any idea of what the future had in store for her, but she knew that she didn't regret anything. Her fate had been decided from the day she was born. Still, she knew that no matter how old she got, she would always carry her memories inside her heart.

**The end**


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